


Globetrot Purple

by stmangos



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Rewrite, M/M, Queer Themes, Rated for some violence and swearing, Slow Burn, Trans Sokka (Avatar), Trans Zuko (Avatar), Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 98,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stmangos/pseuds/stmangos
Summary: One hundred and five years after the beginning of the Fire Nation Civil War, Sokka and Zuko are both urgently looking for someone-- Sokka for his sister, Zuko for the Avatar. It only makes sense to partner up, especially in the face of the Northern Fire Nation’s latest plan for world dominance.





	1. The Tourist

A young man has begun walking briskly down the road to town while Sokka was busy castigating the pirates, and he’s not okay with that. 

“Hey!”

The young man’s shoulders tense up, and he glances back cagily as Sokka jogs up to him. A couple of pirates swear loudly behind them and a barrel, a golden drinking cup, and an egg the size of a human head go bouncing past them, vanishing into a deep snowdrift.

“We don’t want any pirates here. So if you would just get back on your little ship--” Sokka makes a shooing motion. “--that’d be great.”

“I’m not a pirate,” says the young man, screwing up his face and pausing in the road. 

“Says the guy who just got off a pirate ship.”

“I’m not! I was just hitching a ride. I don’t have _anything_ to do with them.” He glances resentfully at the ship. 

Behind the young man’s shoulder Sokka spots a squad of waterbenders trotting up the path excitedly. Most of them haven’t had to use their combat skills before. 

“What are you doing here, then?” 

The waterbenders pass them and confront the pirates at the dock. Some shouting is occurring.

“I’m sightseeing,” the young man says after a pause.

Sokka squints at him. “Down here? Really?” He glances back at the ship. 

The captain is brandishing a cutlass and shouting something about not leaving without their merchandise. Meh.

“Yes.” The young man is shivering obstinately. “I like the cold.”

Sokka stares at him for a moment, and he stares back as if daring Sokka to comment. There’s a yell and a splash in the background, which they both ignore.

“Okay.” Sokka folds his arms. “ Well, Mr…”

“Zuko.”

Even his name sounds sketchy. “I’m Sokka. I hope you have fun with your _‘sightseeing.’”_

Zuko narrows his eyes. “Thank you. I will.” 

“AND STAY OUT!” a youthful voice shouts from the dock, and some scattered cheering goes up.

Zuko turns reluctantly back towards the road, keeping his eyes suspiciously on Sokka until he must look towards the path in front of him. Not that that helps him much, because he ends up taking a step right into a snowdrift and plunging forwards into an icy hole in two seconds flat. 

Sokka rolls his eyes and reaches into the hole, grasping Zuko’s flailing, icy hand, and tugs, but all he gets for his trouble is a backwards stagger. He gives it another shot, jumping as his hand meets sudden warm air. It seems Zuko is literally steaming with rage.

Eventually Sokka yanks him back onto the path, snowdrift half-melted.

“Okay, word of advice?” says Sokka. He has a spare pair of mittens in his pockets, and he pulls them out and tosses them at Zuko. 

Zuko catches them and scowls at them as if he’s never seen a pair before.

“Follow the path if you’re not familiar with the area.” 

Zuko now scowls at Sokka himself. “I make my own path.”

Sokka shrugs and turns to join the waterbenders celebrating at the water’s edge. He glances back after some moments. Zuko is small now, nearly at the town walls. A flash of incongruous red appears in the road near where Sokka pulled him out of the snowdrift, close to the ground. But Sokka blinks, and it’s gone. 

The next morning dawns clear and bright, early as usual for the summer, as the waterbenders widen the aperture in the enormous igloo that surrounds the town. The sunlight concentrated on the upper east wall is difficult to look at. 

And Sokka, unfortunately, is awake. 

He trudges down the street, yawning as his crunching footsteps penetrate the still morning air. Once he reaches the icy town wall, he begins to climb. 

The stairs wind around the entire wall, lengthening as the angle of the igloo changes near the top, but not even a fragment of ice is knocked loose by his footsteps. He reaches the site of the complaint, a house sticking out from the wall like a snaggletooth and suspended over the rest of the town below. It is flanked by similar others on either side farther up and down the stairs. 

The resident guides him through the main room of the small dwelling and to the back room. “In here. I was up working last night and heard someone. By the time I ran in here it was like this.”

The room’s large food urns are knocked on their sides, their contents spilled over the floor. The ashes of a couple of seal steaks are littered on the rug. 

“Hmm,” says Sokka, in order to give the illusion that he knows what he’s looking at.

“I don’t know how they could have gotten in here,” the woman says, looking around the room with a frown. “I could see the door the whole time.”

Sokka sticks his head out the window next to the urns and is met with a dizzying view of the town’s ground level and all the empty air in between. Maybe a waterbender could have bent ice to make their way up to the window, but somebody would probably have noticed that. It’s not like they have wings. 

The ice is smooth and unmarked. No hand and footholds. A smear of ash is on the windowsill, and a few specks below the window are caught in the ice.

He bends down to look at the urns. One sports a long black char mark, and the rug beneath it looks a little singed. 

Sokka pokes around. The house doesn’t contain many spaces someone could hide. “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out.”

He walks back down the steps thoughtfully. The roofs of the buildings below become larger. There’s a moving figure on one, wearing red…

He hurries down the stairs and jogs through the streets. Panting, he pulls up in front of the house, long abandoned since elderly Heka died last summer, and yells upwards, “Hey!”

After a moment, Zuko pokes his face over the edge of the roof, frowning. 

“What are you _doing?”_

To his credit, Zuko looks slightly embarrassed. “Just looking around.”

“Wh-- on the roof?”

“It doesn’t look like anyone lives here.”

“You better have a good explanation for this.”

Zuko looks down at him, face screwed up. “I was-- look...” 

“Did you break into a house last night and burn a bunch of seal steaks?”

“What?”

Either he’s a good actor, or his baffled and offended expression is completely genuine. “Would you come down here?”

Zuko glances to the side, at the roof, reluctantly-- suspiciously-- and this makes up Sokka’s mind. 

“Never mind. I’m coming up.”

He enters the house-- lock’s been cleanly picked-- but finds no ladder to speak of. He returns outside, surveys the house, and scrambles onto the windowsill. He grasps for a handhold on the wall above him. His fingers catch on a nodule of ice sticking out of the wall. He pulls his weight onto it and grasps for the roof. The nodule shifts alarmingly, and he starts slipping--

But no, Zuko has caught his hand, grip now secure instead of slippery with ice. He’s wearing the mittens Sokka threw at him. He hauls Sokka over the edge of the roof. 

So much for intimidating a suspect. “Thanks,” pants Sokka, and squints at him to make sure he knows he’s not off the hook.

Sokka gets to his feet and looks out over the roof. It glimmers in the sunlight, a blank slab of icy white-- except, he realizes as his foot brushes against something odd next to him, for this. 

A small pile of little bones is nestled into a dip in the corner of the roof. They are black and brown with, apparently, burning, and picked entirely clean. 

Sokka frowns mistrustfully up at Zuko. 

“I just found this here,” Zuko says immediately. 

“What, you were just taking a morning stroll across the rooftops? And happened to accidentally pick the lock downstairs? Yeah, I noticed.” Sokka kneels down to pick up one of the bones, examining it. 

“I… wanted to make sure nothing inside was on fire.”

Yeah, that’s seal all right. “Riiight.”

Zuko crosses his arms. “And I didn’t break into any other houses, or do-- whatever it is you’re accusing me of doing.”

“Of breaking into a house on the Stairs, and burning their seal steaks. And _you’ve_ been caught with what looks like the remains of it.” Sokka jabs his hand upwards to point towards the Stairs, and brandishes the bone towards Zuko.

Zuko raises his chin a little, looking down at him. “You don’t get a lot of excitement down here, do you?”

“We normally don’t have people who lurk around houses and travel with pirates! Besides, going in through the window? Up there? Whoever did it-- is up to something.” 

“Through the window?” Zuko’s eyes travel upward, and upward, and his brows furrow. He points towards one of the houses. “One of those? Over thin air?”

“Uh-huh.”

Zuko’s eyes light up. “So they could fly.”

Sokka’s thrown for a loop at this sudden change. “What?”

“They set a fire, and they flew,” Zuko repeats, eyes roving over the houses feverishly. “It could be…”

“What are you talking about?”

Zuko looks back at him, expression suddenly intense. “Do you have any benders other than waterbenders down here?”

“You’re saying it was, what-- some mysterious group of delinquent benders? That’s the worst cover story I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not a cover story! I’m just asking if-- there’s any one person down here, who-- might have strange abilities to--”

“Okay, hold on-- So you’re saying the _seal steak thief_ was, what-- the _Avatar_ or something?”

Zuko’s expression is set. 

“Yeah, nice try.”

“Which house was it?” 

Zuko slips over the edge of the roof and lands with a thud on the ground. Sokka follows in time to quickly bar his way as he makes for the stairs. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you go tramping around over _that_ poor lady’s roof.”

“It might be the Avatar--” 

“You’re still going on about this?”

“--which I’m sure is more important than anything _you’ve_ done in your entire life--”

“Pff, yeah, because your weird-ass Fire Nation paranormal hobbies are so--”

“A _hobby?”_ Zuko’s voice rises half an octave in outrage. “It’s not a hobby! And I’m from the _Southern_ Fire Nation.”

“So you’re not an imperialist maniac, congratulations! But that doesn’t mean you’re free of suspicion.”

“I haven’t done anything to hurt anyone, and you have no right--”

“Uh, yes, I do. I care about this town’s safety. So I hope you’re ready to do a lot of explaining, or we’re going to have a problem.”

Zuko balls his hands into fists, eyes narrowing. “I guess we have a problem, then.”

The absolute _nerve_ of this guy. Sokka puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. “You really sure you want to do this?”

“You’re the one who doesn’t know who you’re dealing with.” Zuko draws his sword-- uh, swords, plural. That’s fine. Sokka can adapt.

“I’m sure anything’s more fun than jerking yourself off with your own edginess.” Sokka draws his own sword.

Sokka strikes first, since the best defense is a good offense. The sound of metal on metal tears through the tenderness of the morning air. He goes in for another strike, keeping his blows quick, but with two swords, Zuko has the advantage in dexterity, and he wards Sokka off easily. Sokka is soon occupied with parrying rather than attacking. He needs a leg up here.

The next time their blades clash Sokka puts all his strength into giving him a heavy shove, and Zuko flails backwards a bit, unused to his footing on the snow. Sokka uses the opening to dash a couple of steps up onto the stairs before whirling for his next strike. 

He’s good, Sokka will give him that. He almost wishes they could spar a little longer. But the slight height advantage gives him an edge over Zuko, and every ring of metal on metal forces Zuko back a little farther. Zuko draws back a moment, out of reach, and Sokka senses a possible victory.

“It’s over, Zuko! I have the high gr-- FUCK!” He windmills to the side, dangerously close to the edge of the stairs, as a firebending blast goes sailing past his shoulder. “Imagine getting this mad because someone asked you what you were doing--” He ducks another blast that sends little streams of water running down the wall. 

“It’s none of your business!” Zuko shouts. “I’m looking for the Avatar--” He dodges an experimental swipe from Sokka’s sword. “--to end the Civil War--”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that! Try snooping around, acting like you’re better than everyone--” Sokka kicks snow from the steps into Zuko’s eyes, and Zuko splutters, falling back to rub it away. Sokka swiftly knocks one of the swords out of his hand. It goes skittering yards away across the street. 

Squinting, Zuko makes a vigorous swing with the sword he has left, which Sokka dodges. “I don’t have time for this!”

Sokka swings for Zuko’s remaining sword.

But with Zuko’s other hand, he punches a burst of firebending straight at the steps where Sokka’s standing, and Sokka slips even as he knocks the remaining sword away in Zuko’s distraction.

Sokka tumbles off the steps, sword falling from his hand, and when he rights himself, frenzied, it’s to find Zuko also scrambling to his feet, lunging for his missing swords. Sokka acts purely on instinct. He tackles him. 

Sokka wheezes at he takes an elbow to the gut and retaliates with a punch, or what was intended to be a punch anyway, to the ear, which turns out to hit his shoulder. They roll over in the scuffle, snow flying everywhere, and Zuko manages to half pin Sokka. Sokka seizes a chunk of snow with his one free hand and smashes it roughly into Zuko’s face, and Sokka rolls away as he splutters again.

“Are you five?!” Zuko spits, sounding more really, truly enraged than he has at any point so far in their encounter. 

“I’ll do what I _fucking_ \--” A snowball hits Sokka in the face and he’s attacked back into the snow, breath leaving him sharply. He lands another blow, and the brawl continues. 

Abruptly an icy cold grips him right down to the viscera. He gasps in a wheeze, limbs going weak. He’s suddenly dripping. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” the man in the building next to them shouts out the second-story window, holding an empty but dripping basin over them. He glares daggers at them, his hair in sleepy disarray. “Don’t you know what time it is?!” He slams the shutters closed. 

“It’s past sunrise!” Zuko yells at the shuttered window.

Sokka looks at Zuko, both of them panting. He’s so fucking cold that it’s nearly painful to turn his head. Zuko looks to be in the same boat, with his face an alarming shade of red. 

“This is ridiculous,” says Sokka aloud.

Zuko slowly turns his head to frown sidelong at Sokka. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Look who’s talking.” 

They both sit there, wracked with shivers, for a few seconds. 

“Truce,” gasps Sokka eventually.

“Okay,” Zuko agrees with relief, sounding equally winded.

Sokka struggles to his feet, wincing at the feel of his wet clothes. “Come on. We have to get inside or we’ll really be fucked. It’s too cold for this.”

Zuko follows hesitantly.

“So,” says Sokka some time later in his family’s house, when the fire has eased the worst of their shivering. “About your cover story.”

“It’s not a ‘cover story,’” Zuko snaps from over his blanket mound.

“What is it, then?”

“The truth!” Zuko turns to look at him, his eyes wild. “I’m looking for the Avatar. After Sozin’s comet, the North gained the upper hand, and if we don’t do something, it’s all over.”

Sokka stares at him. “You’re really serious.”

“That’s what I’ve been _saying.”_

“You still can’t go poking into everything around here like you own the place. It’s really quiet down here. People will freak out. And to be honest, it’s just kind of jerk-like behavior.”

Zuko’s quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to apologize! Now I look like the dick.”

“You accused me of something I didn’t do just because I was there. I didn’t burn anyone’s stuff.”

“I’m sorry too, then. I… jumped to conclusions.” When he thinks about it, what motive could Zuko have had to break into a random woman’s house and burn part of her food stores? Nothing of value was even taken, and there was certainly no evidence of any planned attack on the inhabitants. 

They stare at the fire for a minute.

“What were you doing on that roof, then?” Sokka ventures.

“Last night I saw fire up there, but when I got there it was gone. I came back in the morning to see better.”

Sokka makes a mental note of this claim. “And you thought that since we don’t have firebenders down here, it might be the Avatar. Or something.”

Zuko shrugs.

“No offense, but what makes you think the Avatar would help you guys? The Fire Nation did kind of try to kill the Avatar.”

Zuko is silent for a moment. “I hope that they’ll see how hard we’ve, the South, has tried to make things right. I want them to see that we-- want to do something good. And if they don’t want to help, then...” 

Sokka scrubs his face with his hands, blankets slipping from his wrists. “So we don’t have that different goals anyway. Keeping our people safe and stuff. I get it.”

Zuko nods.

“So how about a deal then? You stop being a jerk, and I stop being… also a jerk.”

“Deal,” says Zuko glumly.

They shake on it and fall silent again. 

“Oh,” says Zuko, sitting up straight. He pushes himself to his feet and goes over to his coat, drying next to the fire, and digs through the pockets. He pulls out the mittens and holds them out to Sokka. “These are yours.”

“Nah, keep ‘em. I don’t need them.”

Zuko pulls them back in towards his body and sits back down with them, sliding them closer to the fire. “Thanks.”

Sokka waves him off from the doorstep some time later, and Zuko reciprocates awkwardly before trudging off, a blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. 

Sokka goes out again later, but sees neither hide nor hair of him for the rest of the day-- and neither hide nor hair of whoever broke into the house, either.


	2. A Rare Discovery

“So who is this you’re dealing with today?” Sokka asks as he and his dad walk down the corridor.

“It’s someone who allegedly broke into a house near the south wall last night, but actually, I was thinking you could give it a shot today.”

“What, really?” Sokka jolts fully upright with excitement.

“You have to start practicing sometime. And I think you’re ready.” Hakoda smiles at him as they enter the magisterial chamber and head to the front of the room.

Fuck yeah, Sokka is so ready for this. Finally, a chance to prove he’s learning how to become a proper chief. Finally, a chance to show that he can hold his own. Finally, a chance to prove he’s not just social dead weight, hanging around here and making everyone uncomfortable... 

The man with the complaint enters first and stands facing Sokka, tapping his foot. The runners then enter with the accused from the passage to the left, not holding him, just guiding. He’s shuffling along scowling, and Sokka gets a first good look at his face. 

Sokka and Zuko stare at each other with surprise for a moment.

“I don’t know why I thought it would be anyone else,” says Sokka wryly. Zuko looks offended.

“Sokka, you know this man?” his dad asks him, looking at Zuko quizzically. 

“Yep, we met a couple days ago.”

“This man broke into my home late last night and had the gall to not _only_ set fire to my furs and other things, but also to _raid my food stores,_ ” the complainant grumbles, tapping his foot and crossing his arms. “I caught him in the act.”

They all look to Zuko.

“I didn’t do any of that!” Zuko begins indignantly. “I was just walking by, and the shutters weren’t completely closed, and I, uh-- I saw a burst of fire in the room and when I peered inside I saw something moving around. But then the door opened and when I looked to see what the sound was, the thing in the room flew out the window right past me. It was dark, but I felt it. I _know_ someone was there. It was already on fire when I got there. And the shutters were already open.”

“Uh huh,” says Sokka.

“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?” says the man, exasperated. “Come on. He was at the scene of the crime. And he _is_ a firebender, you know. He admits it. From the Southern Fire Nation or not.”

“I didn’t burn anything,” Zuko repeats insistently.

Sokka has a gut feeling that indeed he didn’t, which he’s inclined to follow. At the same time, though, _somebody_ has to keep an eye on this guy. It’s like he’s got a nose for trouble.

The man gives him a long-suffering look before turning to Hakoda. “Chief Hakoda, what do you think about this?”

Sokka looks at his dad, and his dad looks back at him steadily. “Sorry, Taba. This is Sokka’s case today.”

There is something weird going on here, and Sokka is going to get to the bottom of it. 

“Zuko,” Sokka says in exasperation as they leave the magisterial building, Taba glaring suspiciously as he passes them. The two of them pause outside the door. “Look, I believe you, but when we made that deal to stop being creepy about it, this isn’t exactly what I meant. Just because you didn’t break in doesn’t mean you can stare into people’s windows because you think it’s the Avatar or whatever.”

“The only reason I looked was because I saw a fire,” mumbles Zuko defensively. “I _didn’t_ break my promise.”

“Okay, okay!” Sokka rubs his chin. “So here’s what we know. Whatever this thing is-- according to you-- it has firepower. Second, it can fly. We don’t have any animals down here that can do that, and it is definitely not the Avatar.”

“It could _definitely_ be the Avatar,” Zuko insists as they descend the wide white steps.

“It’s probably a spirit. Come on.” He hops down from the last step and sets off towards the west side of town. 

“Where are you going?” Zuko calls after him. 

“To see our spirit specialist,” Sokka calls after his shoulder. He hears Zuko follow him, jogging to catch up. 

Zuko falls into step beside him. “If they know about spirits, then they probably know about the Avatar.”

They make their way through narrowing streets where the ground is deeply trodden. The sound of children laughing reaches their ears. 

Before them is a structure with a large round door. In front of it are a half dozen children kicking a thick, flat disk of ice around in a game that takes up both sides of the street. They quickly cut around the children and duck through the door.

In the large, round room, another group of children are seated on the floor. Before them sits an elderly woman in a chair, deep in a story.

“...and at last, having traveled the world, Ka Lan Do knew she had found true love at last. But there was one thing she regretted: she had seen many wonders and accomplished great deeds, but she and her lover hadn’t done any of those things _together._ So what did they do then? They set off, and vanished into unexplored places to seek their destiny.” 

She claps her wizened hands together. “The end.”

The children all start getting to their feet as the old woman sighs and leans back in her chair. Sokka takes advantage of the children noisily filing out the door to approach her. “Yuki.”

The old woman tilts her head. “Sokka! I haven’t seen you around here in a long while.”

“We sort of need your expertise.” Briefly Sokka explains the odd incidents. 

“Hmm. Well, some of them have been known to get hungry,” says Yuki, tilting her head back in thought. “Like Lok Ter, on the tundra, farther south. But he doesn’t have fire powers, and he wouldn’t venture into the town anyway. I can’t think of any other spirit down here who would do such a thing.”

“Could it be a new one? One we haven’t heard of?” 

“Maybe.”

“Could it be the Avatar?” Zuko speaks up for the first time.

Yuki looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“They’re using fire _and_ air. And if the Avatar’s been in hiding for a hundred years, it makes sense that they would get desperate.”

“It is possible,” Yuki says evenly.

“What? Yuki, come on,” cuts in Sokka, exasperated, looking between them. 

“No, no. If there’s anything I know about spirits and those who are connected to them, it’s that they play by their own rules.” She laughs a little. “You of all people ought to understand that.”

Sokka frowns, not answering, as Zuko looks at him inquiringly. He wishes she hadn’t brought that up.

They step outside, watching as the children previously sitting inside attack the puck. 

Zuko opens his mouth to say something, and Sokka’s not sure what he’s going to say, but cuts him off just in case. “We’ve gotta catch this thing,” he says lowly. “So I can stop having to deal with all these break-ins, and so you can stop getting accused of all these break-ins.”

“How are we gonna do that?”

“With bait. Meat, probably, judging by what’s getting burned.”

“The Avatar would never fall for that.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Nightfall finds them sitting on the roof of the now empty magisterial building, huddled low in the dark behind a snowy ridge. A thick seal steak is situated temptingly in the opposite corner of the roof. Sokka twitches the nets into their correct positions and leans back, patting the coil of thin fishing line next to him in the dark, one end tied securely to a metal hook on the roof, its other end hooked into the steak. The moon is new, and the starlight lightly brushes the town through the contracted aperture of the great igloo’s roof. All they have to do is wait.

And wait.

Sokka sighs and flops backwards, looking up at the dome and the night sky. Zuko is huddled into a ball, arms around his legs, and the crease of his eyebrows is just visible over his knees. The mittens Sokka gave him are poking out of his pocket.

“We’re not going to get anywhere with this,” Zuko mutters, voice muffled by his knees.

“Yeah, maybe not.” Sokka scrubs his face with his hands. “But this is only Attempt One. We’ve got some time.”

“If I don’t find the Avatar, soon, the whole world might be in danger.”

Sokka lifts his head to look at him, eyebrows raised. That came out of nowhere. “That… sounds like a lot of pressure. The Water Tribe, Earth Kingdom, and Air Nomads wouldn’t let the Northern Fire Nation take over-- you know. The whole world. They can try, but come on.”

“My grandfather’s getting closer to taking over the south. It’s only a matter of time. And if he does, he’ll want to start the war back up.”

“Your gra-- wait, wait, wait, hold on a second, so you’re--” Sokka sits up, squinting at him as he tries to work this out. “Your grandfather is Firelord Azulon? You’re a prince?”

Zuko looks at Sokka, startled and tense. “Uh… yeah.”

“You didn’t mean to say that, did you?”

Zuko glares up at the sky and sighs. “No.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell anyone.” Sokka lies back down. He senses Zuko slowly untense beside him.

There’s a comfortable pause. 

“Sometimes…” Sokka shrugs, attempting to be comforting. “You just have to do what you can with what you have, I guess.” He pauses. Sokka turns his head to his right to see Zuko looking down at him, the livid scar on his left side dark against his pale face. “How did you… how’d you get to the south, if your grandfather is Firelord Azulon?”

Zuko looks down and picks up the slack coil of fishing line, wraps it around his fingers so that white indentations appear in his skin. “I… ran away. When I was a kid.”

“Oh.”

Zuko nods, lips pressed thin. 

“Well, can’t blame you.” Sokka stretches. He wishes they could go inside. “Living next to that guy--”

“YEARGH--!”

One moment he’s there, next moment he’s gone. Sokka jumps to his feet. There’s a loud squawk from his left. He’s poking his head over the rim of the roof when one of the weightier ends of a net strikes him squarely in the back of the head, and everything fades into _owowowfuckshit_ for a moment. Clutching his head, he pushes the net off of himself and looks over the edge of the roof. 

“Zuko!”

Zuko blinks up at him, looking stunned. He’s lying flat on his back in the street.

Sokka dashes down the ladder as fast as he can with his throbbing head and kneels next to him. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Zuko pushes himself up on one elbow gingerly, and Sokka helps pull him to a sitting position. 

“What just happened?”

Zuko raises his trembling right hand, which is purpling and still wrapped in the remains of the fishing line. It trails off for about two feet. “I got pulled off the roof. The line broke.”

“Oh, for the love of--” Sokka slaps his hand to his forehead. “We got distracted.” 

A gurgling, growling noise comes from the shadows between the buildings to their right, and they both whip around. Sokka stands to try to get a better look, but a shadowy form flits over the roof of the building to the left and is gone in an instant. 

Sokka pulls Zuko to his feet and they shuffle over to the alleyway to look. The seal steak, with much of the line still attached, is lying in a corner, bleeding its raw juices into the snow. Sokka lifts it up with two fingers. There’s a small but deep bite mark in the corner. 

“It bit it,” he says. “Raw.”

“Well, the Avatar would be over a hundred years old,” says Zuko. “They’ve probably forgotten some essential things. Like how to… eat?”

They both stare at it for a few seconds.

“I think my hand’s broken,” says Zuko.

Sokka sits morosely on one of the infirmary beds as the healer on duty, the only one this late, lectures them about not being in positions where they may fall off of roofs in the middle of the night. Zuko watches in fascination as the water envelops his hand and looks closely at it as if he’s never seen it before when it is relinquished. 

“The Avatar’s never going to fall for that again,” says Zuko. 

“Still don’t know that it’s a person. Just saying.”

The healer wraps Zuko’s hand, eyeballing the seal steak Sokka is still holding with an expression of disgust, and they go on their way. The cold rays of dawn are just beginning to lighten the sky. 

“We can set up another one,” says Sokka. “And this time--” He interrupts himself with a yawn. “--we won’t get distracted talking about our tragic backstories.”

“We didn’t talk about yours, though.”

Better change the subject. He glances at Zuko. “So what are you gonna do now?”

Zuko doesn’t answer. His eyes are a little glazed over.

“Zuko?”

“Huh?”

“What are you gonna do now?”

“...Look for the Avatar.” He rubs his eyes aggressively. “I can’t stop until I find them.”

Sokka sighs. “Look, I really don’t think the Avatar’s down here. We don’t have immigration really, and hardly anyone who hasn’t lived here their whole lives comes in and out. If the Avatar was here, trust me, we’d know about it.” He shrugs a little hopelessly.

Zuko scrunches up his face. 

“After that night, _I_ am going to go home and take a very long nap. You should probably do the same.”

“Can’t,” says Zuko absently. “Boarding house doesn’t want me there anymore. After I got accused of breaking into that house.”

“Of _course_ they don’t.” Sokka yawns. 

They both stand there blinking in vaguely irritated confusion and tiredness for a moment. Sokka’s stomach growls. 

“Come on,” he says, beginning to trudge off. “Let’s go get some food.”

Sokka perks up a little at the smell of frying fish. “You can’t leave the Southern Water Tribe without trying this place.”

As he opens the door, though, it’s to the sound of frustrated shouting. And to the smell of burning.

“What the--” Sokka cranes his neck to look behind the counter. “Hey! Everything all right back there, Minka?”

There’s a crash. Sokka glances at Zuko, and they waste no time hurrying around the counter. 

Sokka pushes open the kitchen door, and a smoky air immediately billows out. An old woman wielding a broom stands aggressively poised in front of a corner of the large room filled with barrels of fish. The room is sweltering. Some of the barrels are dripping and scorched. She whips her head around to glare at them as she hears the door open. 

“Everything okay?” Sokka says, trying to sound authoritative and not intimidated. 

“Hardly,” she hisses. “Some kind of animal got into the fish, must have knocked a piece of the kindling over. I turn my back for one minute and the barrels are going up in flames.” She deals a solid thwack to the side of a barrel at the end of the room, and a hiss responds. “Probably a fox-marmot.”

Sokka glances at Zuko to find him already staring at the barrels with a knowing frown. 

“Can I look?” Sokka steps around her and peers between the barrel and the wall. It’s dark, but he has the sense that something is there. He tilts his head, leaning forward a little…

And jumps back as a spurt of fire licks the air before his face. Zuko practically vaults over a waste bin to wedge himself into this same corner. 

“Come out slowly. We’re not going to hur--” Another hiss and some more fire is the response.

“You know what this is?” asks Minka with the utmost skepticism.

“No,” says Sokka.

Zuko runs around to the other side and starts to carefully slide the barrel away from the wall. 

Sokka cautiously stations himself near the widening crack. “What the…”

“You see ‘em?” Zuko stills immediately.

Sokka tilts his head. “Uh… yeah. It’s definitely not a person, but I don’t know what… that’s no fox-marmot.” A stripe of light hits it for a brief moment before it twitches back into the shadows, and Sokka catches a glimpse of glittering crimson. 

“Oh.” Zuko deflates and comes around to peer into the crack himself.

Yellowish eyes slowly become visible in the shadows as their eyes adjust. They hold Sokka’s gaze unblinkingly. A small shuffling sound tells them it has moved farther back into the barrels before another jet of fire singes the sides.

“Is that…” Zuko squints at it and slowly kneels down. He holds out his palm slowly, and a fire winks to life in it, suspended in a flickering ball.

“What are you doing?” says Sokka.

“Wait.”

After a minute, those round, yellow eyes become visible as they emerge from behind the barrel. Tiny, noodle-like whiskers brush over the floor, and a reptilian snout half the size of a fist slowly inches closer to Zuko’s hand.

“It’s a dragon,” says Zuko, hushed. “It’s a fucking dragon. I thought they were extinct.”

“I’ll be damned,” murmurs Minka.

It seems no one dares to breathe or move as it gets within scorching distance of Zuko. It extends its long neck towards him slowly, whiskers waving, eyes fixed on the fire in Zuko’s hand. After a moment, it slowly lowers its head to his palm, nestling into the warmth. 

“Holy shit,” whispers Sokka.

Stunned, Zuko lets the fire go out, and for a moment, they all just stare at it.

And then it decides to chomp down on Zuko’s thumb with its tiny razor teeth for reasons unknown, and Zuko almost bursts all of their eardrums. 

“Okay, so it likes being warm,” says Sokka. “We can deal with that.” The dragon is swaddled in his parka and making strange, hopefully happy gurgling noises, and he’s holding the entire bundle in what he hopes is the ideal zone that is close enough for it to be pleased with his body heat and far enough that if it isn’t it won’t bite his nose off. 

“ _You_ can deal with that,” mutters Zuko grumpily, cradling his bleeding hand. “I’d prefer to keep away from it.”

“Well, you’ll have to take it eventually.”

“What?”

“You think we can keep a dragon down here? You have to take it back to the Fire Nation. It’d never survive down here. Plus, I think it might have overstayed its welcome.”

Zuko gives the bundle a sidelong look. “How did it even get down here?”

“ _I_ don’t know. Especially since it’s just a baby, looks like. It probably couldn’t have flown here. Could it?”

“I’m not a dragon expert.”

The healer on duty is the same as the night before, and she gives them an incredulous, exhausted look when Zuko presents his injured hand yet again. 

“What have you been doing?” she mutters, bending a sphere of clean water out of a jug. 

The dragon hisses, and she jumps, looking over at the bundle. “What… is that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Sokka. “Chief’s family business.”

The dragon squirms a little within the parka, and he tightens his grip on it. 

She rarely takes her eyes off the bundle as she heals Zuko’s hand, as if worried it’s going to jump out and attack her. It might, to be honest.

“So what do we do with it?” says Zuko once they’re back out on the street. 

“Keep it happy ‘til you leave, I guess,” says Sokka with a shrug. He dumps it into Zuko’s arms. “By the way, your turn. My arms are getting tired.”

“Hold on,” says Zuko, his voice rising. “I can’t just-- carry this thing-- forever!”

“It’s not forever. Next boat to go off the pole’ll probably leave in like a week and a half.”

“Where am I supposed to put it?”

“Hey, Mom,” says Sokka casually, sidling into the common room. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

His mother looks up from the package of furled scrolls she’s untying.

He guides her out into the street, where he presents Zuko, newly homeless accused criminal, and the dragon, an ominously hissing pile of smoking parka. He’s surprised that she agrees.

After deciding to shut the dragon into the stone sauna the chief’s home shares with the linked adjacent houses, and the lengthy process of actually getting it in there, Sokka finally flops down onto a bench. Zuko has quietly disappeared into the room they’ve allotted him. He closes his eyes, listening to his mother shuffle through the mail.

“Sokka,” she says, her voice sounding tense.

He opens his eyes. She’s frowning down at a letter. 

“Huh? What?”

“This letter is from Katara’s waterbending master in the North. She left four months ago.”

“What?” Sokka sits up straight. “She should have been here ages ago.”

Kya stares down at the letter, the corners of her mouth drooping. “I know.”

The first thing he does when he shuffles out of bed the next morning is check on the dragon. The sauna door is ajar and steam is leaking into the hallway. 

“Shit,” he whispers. 

He checks all around the main room to no avail. He pokes his head out the front door to find the sun rising, but no dragon. And in this cold, it probably wouldn’t have gone far.

He walks back through the house, checking the corners, on his way to Zuko’s room. 

“Zuko? You awake?” he says softly, knocking lightly on the door frame.

When there’s no answer, he parts the curtain slightly to peek inside. 

The dragon is curled up directly on top of Zuko’s face, wing extended and patagium covering Zuko’s eyes like a sleeping mask. Its round eyes blink at him innocently and it makes a quiet, winsome chirp.

“That’s not… a good spot for you to… uh.”

How is he supposed to do this? If he tries to wake Zuko up, he might freak out the dragon, and Zuko might get a little more than a bitten hand. If he tries to pull it off of him, _Sokka_ might get more than a bitten hand.

He walks back into the main room of the house and pulls out a bag of seal jerky. Returning to Zuko’s room, he pulls out a piece and watches the dragon dubiously. It raises its head, eyes on the food.

Sokka slowly kneels down to set the piece on the floor a few paces inside the door. The dragon perks up even more. Sokka steps backward and puts down another piece. As it watches him, he continues to back out the door, leading a trail into the hall. He’s just poking his head back into the room to see if it’s moved when it gets to its feet, jumps, and pounces onto the nearest piece of jerky. 

Zuko jolts in the bed as the dragon’s little claws dig into his face. He sits up and looks around wildly. 

“Dragon was sleeping on your face,” says Sokka apologetically. 

“Wha…” Zuko crosses his arms across his chest and stares at the dragon, now nudging all the pieces of jerky into a little pile on the floor. “What’s it doing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s--”

The dragon makes a small squeaking sound, and then opens its mouth wide. 

“Oh--”

Sokka has just enough time to throw himself out of the way before the dragon toasts the pile, and the floor in a yard’s radius around it, to a crisp, and then, squeaking happily, dives in.

Something bad has happened up north. He has a gut feeling. 

“So,” Sokka says casually, “where are you going after this?”

“The Southern Air Temple, probably,” says Zuko, daring to pull the dragon, attached by the teeth, off of his sleeve. “And then north. I’ll just keep searching until I find a lead.”

“Funny, turns out I’m going the same way.”

Zuko looks up at him. “You’re leaving?” The dragon jumps up and catches hold of his sleeve again, and he pries its jaws apart until it lets go. “ _No._ Down.”

“My sister was supposed to be back from waterbending training in the Northern Water Tribe by now, and we just got a letter from the North saying they’ve lost track of her. She’s never been missing for this long, so I have to go up and find her and make sure she’s okay.”

“Oh. That’s… rough.” 

“Yeah. But, hey, at least we can, uh, travel together, pool our knowledge, have backup in case we run into any trouble…” Sokka coughs a little. “...for a little while.” 

“Yeah.” Zuko smiles a little. “Okay.” The dragon hops up and snaps at Zuko’s arm, and he glances at it reproachfully. “ _No._ ” He gives Sokka a sidelong look. “You’re not going by the Fire Nation first, are you?”

“Aw, come on. He’s not so bad. What, you scared of a _tiny_ baby dragon?” Sokka leans down to scratch the dragon’s neck. His large, yellow eyes fix on Sokka, and he tilts his head, making a small chirruping sound in his throat. “He just needs a little trainING get off get OFF--” 

“He must be teething or something,” Zuko offers as he hurriedly tosses a piece of fish a safe distance away from Sokka and the dragon lets go of his finger to slither over to it. 

“I thought we had something, you little shit,” Sokka mutters mournfully as he watches the dragon cheerfully toast the piece and begin gulping it down. 

At some point they get the idea to spar in the street, because what better way to work off the bad blood from a serious sword fight than with a fake one? But the plan goes slightly awry when a close swing slices into Sokka’s cheek, sending a small stream of blood trickling downwards.

Zuko lowers his sword immediately, looking vaguely panicked, but Sokka waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a scratch. Looks worse than it is.”

Zuko goes in for another swing, and Sokka parries. 

“It’s funny that you get me now, instead of before when you were actually trying to hurt me.” 

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” Zuko blocks Sokka’s upwards strike, and his eyes dart to Sokka’s face in the split second pause between passes. “I was just trying to knock you down.”

“Speaking of--” Sokka goes in for what he hopes will be his final blow.

But Zuko twists, and in avoiding one sword Sokka allows the other to knock his own sword away with the flat of the blade. As Sokka steps back, he trips, and lands hard on his right hip and hand. His gaze travels as if drawn from the sword tip at his throat up the blade to Zuko’s face, flushed with exertion and eyes alight with the exhilaration of the fight.

“‘Speaking of?’” Zuko repeats with triumphant emphasis.

Sokka allows his head to thunk backwards against the ground. 

Sokka’s kneeling on the ground, checking through his pack. Sleeping roll, emergency funds, provisions, boomerangs…

He removes his sword from its sheath to double-check its sharpness. Moonlight through the window glints off of it, silvery and cool. 

A perfunctory knock sounds at the door. “Sokka?”

Sokka looks around, resheathing the sword. “Hi, Mom.”

She enters the room and crosses her arms, standing looking at him. “Packing up?”

“Yeah.” 

She nods and kneels next to him, pressing a small pouch into his hand. “Why don’t you take some extra money.”

“Uh, okay. I probably won’t need it though.”

“Just in case.”

“...Okay.” He doesn’t need it, won’t need it, he’s perfectly capable, but the last time an argument like this went down it didn’t go well. And he won’t see her for some months.

She leans back on her heels, watching him fuss with his supplies. Her mouth is turned tightly down. “Send word back if anything goes wrong.”

“I will.”

“I know you’ll find her.”

“Of course I will. I mean, you know Katara-- she probably just ran into someone with a problem and got distracted. Like the bleeding heart she is,” Sokka says with a nonchalance he doesn’t feel.

She nods again and leans forward to enfold him tightly in a hug, and he hugs her back, linking his hands together around her back. 

“Stay safe… son.”

He feels a jolt of pleased surprise. “I will, Mom. I know.”

She looks at him, really looks at him, and for a second he’s a little alarmed at the utterly lost look in her eyes. But it passes, and her expression softens. She pulls his head down gently to kiss his forehead, rises, and leaves the room. He turns back to his pack.

A clicking noise makes him turn around, expecting to see his mom returning. But instead he finds the dragon, head tilted, staring at him from the doorway. It looks way too small to be as much of a menace as he knows it is. 

“What are you looking at?” he asks it halfheartedly. “And why aren’t you locked in the sauna?”

The dragon makes its way into the room towards him, and Sokka starts to warily lift the pack up. Having all his supplies set on fire would put a damper on the night. He wants to go to sleep soon, damn it.

But the dragon snags a claw in the bottom of his tunic, somewhat alarmingly, and claws its way up, curling around his neck under the hem of his clothes. 

“Huh,” says Sokka aloud to himself. It’s heavier than expected, and the scaly texture is oddly smooth. Like wearing a weird rope for a scarf. He pats it on the head tentatively. “Please don’t bite me.” 

It bites him.

That night he lies half-asleep, thinking over the events of the last week. His mind wanders. Katara. Dragon. Zuko. Pirates.

In his mind’s eye he sees the golden drinking cup and the large egg go bouncing down the pirates’ gangplank, and he shocks himself into full wakefulness. He stares into space for a moment before slapping his palm to his forehead.

It was that damn egg. The pirates had just come from the Southern Fire Nation. Of course.


	3. The Spirit's Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, thank you all for your responses! The plan here is to update with a new chapter every week to two weeks and end up with about ~~40~~ 30 chapters. Thanks for reading!

The few townspeople who happen to be watching them depart look relieved to see them go as the ship pulls away from the dock. Probably Zuko and the dragon’s fault. Hopefully.

“He needs a name,” says Zuko without any preamble as the white shore begins to be slowly swallowed up by the slate waves. The dragon is curled up on top of his head in a little ball, claws grasping his hair in little tufts.

Sokka, leaning on the railing, glances at him. “What happened to ‘I can’t carry this thing around forever’?” 

“I don’t sound like that! And I’m just tired of calling him ‘the dragon.’ That’s all.” 

“Hmm.” Sokka stares out at the sea gravely. “How about… Bitey McBiteface?”

“No.”

“B.M. for short.” 

“Still no.”

“Well, we’ll think about it.” 

They dock in a harbor framed by a cluster of towers and high walkways half-shrouded by the early morning mist. Sokka cranes his neck back to get a look at the top, and feels nearly dizzy at the sheer height of it. Small patches of green poke through the mist where gnarled trees cling stubbornly to the cliffs. 

“Well, here we are,” he says. His voice sounds too loud in the tenderness of morning. A few vague shapes can be seen flying distantly around the highest towers. 

“Have you been here before?” says Zuko, squinting at the towers.

“Yeah. A couple times,” says Sokka darkly. “They do know a lot of spiritual mumbo-jumbo. They might know something useful.” The ship’s crew begin unloading the wares to trade. 

“Sounds like you don’t like it here.” 

Sokka shrugs. “I don’t dislike it. This place is just weird. That’s all.” He stares only at the crate of furs he’s holding as he sets it onto a cart. 

They follow the winding road up to the temple for a short time until they come to a clearing off the path. A wide space has been cleared in the rocks and shrubbery, and this is where they stop their carts. They’ve only just finished wheeling them all in when a gust of wind prompts them to look up: several airbenders are growing larger as they soar through the sky towards them, and even as they watch many land at the front of the clearing. Within minutes a lively trade has started up as the airbenders haggle with the Water Tribe traders. 

Sokka leans on an empty cart, watching Zuko watch the airbenders. None of them really seem to stand out as Avatar material, but then again, what would that even mean? It’s a pointless question, anyway. No such thing as the Avatar anymore. 

“Excuse me,” comes a quiet voice, right next to him. Sokka almost jumps. A rangy airbender with large brown eyes is staring intently at Zuko’s head-- no, at the dragon. Sokka almost forgot he was there, he’s so quiet. “Is that a dragon?” A young girl standing next to her has her head cocked curiously.

“Yeah,” says Zuko, turning to face her. The dragon sways a little with his movement, and Zuko performs a quick balancing act to keep him from falling. 

“Amazing,” she says in a hushed voice. “I’ve never seen one before! This has to be one of the last of their kind.” She reaches a hand out slowly, and the girl next to her rises up on her tiptoes to see. “May I pet her?”

“You can try,” says Zuko. “He bites.”

She shakes her head, hair swinging around her shaved crown. “I don’t mind. In fact, it’d be a privilege. I’m Wangmo.” She puts her hand on the shoulder of the little girl next to her. “This is Nyima.”

The little girl offers them a beatific, blue-tinted smile. The bottom of her tunic is pulled up to form a basket for a pile of cloudberries. 

They introduce themselves as Wangmo slowly puts her hand on the dragon’s head, letting it simply rest there. The dragon tolerates it for a stunning eight seconds before attempting to snap. 

“He’s incredible!” she croons, utterly unaffected. “Does he fly yet? What’s his name?”

“Oh, yeah, he flies all right,” says Sokka sourly, remembering the roof incident. “And his name is Bitey Mc--”

“He doesn’t have a name yet. He’s not really ours,” Zuko cuts in quickly.

“If he likes to fly, we’d love to take him for a flight.” Her eyes shine.

Sokka glances at Zuko, who looks utterly flummoxed, and has an epiphany. “...Actually, I bet he’d love to go for a flight! Except there’s kind of a favor we were hoping someone here could do for us-- just, you know-- Just a couple questions we wanted to ask.” 

“About airbending culture?” she says helpfully. “You could definitely find someone who’d love to give you a tour, if you want. It’s really a beautiful temple.”

“No, well, sort of, we were thinking more about, um, the Avatar, for instance.”

Her face smooths abruptly back into impassivity. “I’m sorry. That’s kind of a sensitive topic around here. We don’t know much, and we don’t like to talk about it.”

The little girl’s upturned face turns between the two of them. 

“Not even a little?” Sokka wheedles. “I mean--” He casts around for means of flattery. “With all your guys’ spiritual knowledge, we figured you’d be the experts. And my friend here--” He throws an arm around Zuko’s shoulders, shaking him gently. “--is really interested in how the Air Nomads have contributed to world culture and peace.”

She frowns a little. “We appreciate the interest, but it’s really not my decision.” She glances hopefully at the dragon again and hesitantly goes to pet him, approaching from behind his head.

He hisses and slinks down to hide beneath the neck of Zuko’s shirt. 

“He really likes you,” Wangmo coos, inappropriately, Sokka feels, for the sake of such a devilish creature. “Well, at any rate, it was great just to see him. Thank you.”

She departs with a wave, tiny Nyima bouncing along beside her.

“You didn’t want to ask her anything else?” Sokka asks Zuko after she’s out of earshot. “She might have said something important.”

Zuko shrugs. “I have a backup plan.”

“Is it breaking into the temple?”

“No. I’m going to convince them to tell me.” His expression is grim. “The last Avatar was from here. They have to know _something.”_

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Sokka crosses his arms sourly. The temple seems to loom over them like a disapproving parent. 

Zuko gives him another odd look and lingers as if unsure if he should say something or not, but the moment passes. He starts up the road to the temple without another word. 

The afternoon wears away. The wares on display have been steadily vanishing as airbenders wander in and out of the clearing, and Sokka yawns as he leans against a tree. This is really not so bad. The mellow chatter, and the sound of the wind through the trees… Pretty heavy wind, he guesses. Then why doesn’t he feel it…? This thought jerks him fully awake, and he stands up straight, backing a step away from the tree so he can peer into the forest. It’s not just wind. The sound of something heavy routinely flattening the underbrush can clearly be heard. 

“What the…” He cranes his neck to peer up and around the trunks, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it is, before relaxing as a thought comes to him: they’re in the Southern Air Temple. It’s clearly a flying bison. Which are typically furry and mild and--

A left-tilted face looms up under the branches, grinning grotesquely and much higher than a human would stand. A strange green membrane lowers itself to meet its double on the bottom of the face, enclosing it completely for a bare moment before pulling back. 

Sokka’s heart almost stops. He stumbles backward, bumping into an airbender browsing. “Hey--”

As the airbender and several others turn, the crunching noise of limbs on leaves turns to the dull thump of weight on packed earth as a spindly, bizarrely articulated leg touches down in the clearing. Three more follow it as the creature proceeds, and a chorus of gasps, small cries, and dropped objects goes up. Two hovering forelimbs with spikes the length of Sokka’s hand come into view on the upper body. Atop a triangular head and long neck, the smiling face takes the place of one bulbous eye, and its match, a face twisted in sadness, the other eye. The sticky green lids close and open once more, slowly, leaving a mucus-like film over the cheeks of the faces. The faces open their mouths as one.

“Is there anyone I can trust with a message to the Council of Elders?” Its dual voice is sweet and lilting. 

Every instinct in Sokka’s body is screaming at him to draw his sword. He can feel the dragon’s claws digging into his shoulders.

But the airbender he bumped into carefully bows, as do the rest of the airbenders. “Taktentakau. This must be an important message.” 

Sokka catches the eye of one of the Water Tribe sailors, who shrugs at him in panic.

The spirit shifts his weight. His serrated shadow bobs over the ground. “Indeed. Your last Avatar bids me tell you that the disappearing children have been taken by the Northern Fire Nation, and to beware.”

“I will make sure they get the message,” pledges the first airbender after a pause. 

The spirit inclines his head, blinking again, and turns, striding powerfully back into the trees. No one moves or makes a sound until his steps have faded into the distance. 

“Drama queen,” says the first airbender shakily, breaking the silence.

“Is-- do you think he means it?” babbles another airbender, wares forgotten. “And if he does-- why… I mean, we don’t...”

The first airbender shakes his head a little numbly. “I don’t know. I’d better go.” He unfolds his glider on the spot. “They need to hear about this.”

His takeoff sends a small amount of dust flying into everyone’s faces, and the sailors grumble, the spell of the spirit’s arrival seemingly broken. 

“What was that?” Sokka asks the nearest airbender. 

“Taktentakau,” the man replies uncomfortably, “a spirit. We have a pretty good relationship with him because he lives on the next island over and we don’t bother him. But he usually doesn’t come here.”

“But what was he talking about? Your kids are disappearing?”

The man bites his nail and doesn’t answer.

Sokka frowns, looking over the clearing in an attempt to erase the image of the spirit from his brain. All the airbenders seem to have had the zest sucked right out of them. “The Avatar?” he says aloud skeptically.

Nobody answers him.

“He’s probably fine,” Sokka says to the dragon on his shoulder. 

It blinks at him.

“Not like he can’t defend himself.” Sokka sits back on the bunk, tapping his fingers on the edge. Night has fallen, and it’s been half a day since Zuko disappeared up to the temple. Sokka doesn’t want to nag, and he certainly doesn’t want to go up there, but… Maybe he’s curious about this whole Avatar thing too, okay? He just wants to know. 

He stands and stares at the wall for a few seconds of contemplation. Damn this whole thing.

The trek up the path is long and steep. Before long he’s puffing with exertion. He stops for a moment to lean against a tree, looking up at the night sky, dappled with stars, and listening to the night noises of the island: wind through the trees, crickets, vague rustling of animals in the undergrowth. There is an agreeably cool breeze…

An airbender zooms by just overhead, violently ruffling the branches and Sokka’s hair, and he watches them shrink into the distance with wariness. He tries to imagine living here-- his mind revolts against it. The path is rough. Clearly there is usually no one using it. 

He reaches the temple sooner than expected. In front of the main entrance arch, a trio of airbenders sit tossing a paper plane back and forth with puffs of breath. They look up in surprise as he approaches. 

“Hi!” one chirps with a friendly smile.

“Hi, uh, has a guy in red come by here asking about the Avatar?”

Their smiles fade. 

“Oh,” says one in exasperation. “ _That_ guy.”

“Where’d he go?”

The second airbender shrugs. “Someone came out hours ago and took him inside.”

“Can I see him?”

“Sorry, but no.”

“What did he do?” asks Sokka in resignation. 

“We’re sorry, but we’re really not allowed to talk about it--”

“If it’s about Zuko, then it’s my business,” Sokka finds himself saying firmly. “Especially if something happened or something--”

The third airbender exchanges a glance with the others and stands reluctantly. “Well… maybe you _should_ go up. Maybe you can help clear this whole thing up.”

She guides him through the entryway, and after passing into a large courtyard open to the sky, they begin to climb. After several punishing flights later-- the airbender is breathing hard too, though Sokka notices she keeps a cautious eye on him at all times-- they make their way, awkwardly silent, down several empty, darkened corridors. Most of them have extremely low railings, which makes Sokka decidedly uncomfortable. He tries not to glance over the side. 

Eventually they stop beside a plain but thick door-- one of the only doors Sokka has seen in the whole temple. 

“They’re in there,” the airbender says gloomily. She does not move to leave, but watches carefully as Sokka pushes open the door.

Inside is a small wooden table and two similar chairs. In the chair facing him sits an airbender with graying hair and a stern face, listening to Zuko at the other end, who is standing and orating with great emphasis and urgency. They look up as Sokka enters.

“So you are all right, then,” Sokka blurts. 

Zuko’s eyes are wide. “Yeah.”

“Okay, great. I just thought you might have been, uh… detained. But if you’re fine, then you can just make your way back and I’ll see you back at the ship--” He starts backing towards the door. The dragon slides off his shoulders and Sokka makes an abortive movement to grab him; the dragon slithers along the length of the table and makes himself comfortable on Zuko’s shoulders instead.

The door behind Sokka opens again. His airbender guide has entered. 

“He is being detained,” says the older airbender flatly. “Albeit gently.”

Zuko looks as if he has something to say about _that,_ but the airbender girl speaks up. “This guy came up to the temple asking for him.” She nods at Sokka. 

The older woman glowers at Sokka. “Who are you, and what business do you have with him?”

“I’m Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.” He dangles the pendant carved with the mark of the chief’s house. “Chief Hakoda is my father. We’re traveling together. What did he do wrong, anyway?”

The older woman looks as if she has swallowed something sour. She glances at Zuko, and back to Sokka. “Do you know what the situation is here, before you vouch for him?”

“Enlighten me,” Sokka says sarcastically. 

She folds her hands on the table. “In the last six months, four of our children have gone missing. All were taken while off-temple. Just this morning-- a spirit arrived with a message. From the last airbender Avatar.”

Zuko stiffens. Apparently he has not been told this information.

“The spirit told us that the Avatar had determined the Northern Fire Nation was to blame for the disappearances. So you can see why a firebender suddenly asking about the Avatar is…” Her eyes flick to Zuko briefly. “...worrisome.”

“Okay, first of all, I _do_ vouch for him,” Sokka begins tartly. He senses Zuko’s eyes on him keenly. “And hey, I get the suspicion-- But wouldn’t a spy be less obvious, and charming and not awkward? Even if the awkwardness is charming. I’m saving your butt, Zuko, don’t glare at me. He might be looking for the Avatar, but I can guarantee he didn’t kidnap any kids. Pretty sure I would have noticed that. And for the past few weeks, he’s been in the Southern Water Tribe.”

The woman takes this in, frowning.

The girl coughs quietly. “Dawa…? I mean, we… don’t want to cause an international incident…”

The older woman sighs. “No, I guess not.”

“You talk to the Avatar? Where are they?” Zuko says urgently.

The door slams open before anyone can answer, making all of them start. “Dawa,” pants the man in the doorway, “Nyima’s missing.”

Dawa jumps to her feet. “How? For how long?”

She and the girl hurry outside into the hallway, and Sokka and Zuko follow in hasty confusion.

In the corridor outside stands Wangmo, lower lip trembling. “She wanted more cloudberries. So I took her down before bed, and I just-- I heard a noise in the bushes, and by the time I turned back…” She stares at her feet. “I looked everywhere for her. It’s like she just vanished.” 

“Wake everyone up,” Dawa commands the man, who nods and rushes off. 

“About the Avatar--” Zuko puts in hesitantly.

“Less talking, more finding,” says Dawa harshly. 

The three airbenders slip over the balcony, their clothes flapping in the wind, and smoothly alight on the ground stories below. Their small figures rush off in the direction of the entrance.

Sokka and Zuko look at each other and then make for the stairs. A throaty horn sounds throughout the temple.

They join the airbenders, and even the rest of the Water Tribe sailors, in scrambling through the underbrush calling. Every minute or so another bison whooshes past overhead, circling the forest. More airbenders over the ocean can be seen as shadowy flying specks, especially on the northwestern, Fire Nation-ward side of the island. Lanterns dot the landscape like fireflies. The cloudberry patch and the surrounding area have been scoured to within an inch of their lives. At some point the cold grey of dawn begins to crop up.

Mid-morning, searchers begin trailing back to the temple for a break. Sokka rubs his face, headache burgeoning. He’s tired enough to sink down right on the temple steps, unfriendly territory though they feel. Many a time has a small child wandered out onto the tundra. But even in the Southern Water Tribe, dangerously cold and often blanketed with blank snow, their searchers are adept and children are rarely lost. And here, with the airbenders’ bird’s eye views and mild weather? A child would have to be trying to stay lost. And yet, Sokka has not seen any sign of any Northern Fire Nation presence on the island, or on their voyage here...

“Why is the Northern Fire Nation doing this?” comes an even voice, and Sokka looks up to find Dawa standing on the steps next to them, squinting in the orange sunlight at all the olive green landscape laid out before them. “Is it to break our morale? Are they trying to avoid an outright declaration of war?” She looks down at Zuko, staring at the ground next to Sokka. “You would know better than anyone else here.”

“I don’t support anything the Northern Fire Nation is doing.”

“But if you are from the South, your country has spent a century fighting them. You mean you don’t know anything about their tactics?” 

Sokka looks at Zuko himself. His guess is that Zuko knows much more about the North’s fighting tactics than the average Southerner would, but he stays silent. 

“The North has always focused on reuniting the country under Azulon’s rule,” Zuko begins slowly. “They’ve never had energy to spare on attacking the other nations until they do that.”

“And yet they have.”

Zuko bows his head silently. 

“Unless you believe the warning of the Avatar is false.” She briefly describes what Sokka witnessed this morning.

Zuko raises his head again, looking straight at her for the first time. “If the Avatar warned you, why wouldn’t they come to help?”

Dawa’s eyes widen. “Well, he’s dead, of course.”

“What?!” Zuko jolts upright.

Dawa frowns. “We’ve suspected the Avatar’s spirit has moved on for a long time. No one has ever returned to this temple, or anywhere else that we know of, and declared themselves to be the Avatar. And among those of us who're the most spiritually attuned… We can’t contact the last Avatar, but the feeling is clear.”

Zuko turns to look off at the trees blankly. “So they may not even be an airbender at all.”

“Not yet.” Dawa sighs. “No airbender child has exhibited the signs since the war a century ago, at least. And no one has come asking to be taught.”

“Who was he?” asks Sokka curiously. “The last one.”

Dawa finally stoops to sit on the step next to them. “A boy from the Southern Air Temple. That’s all we know. Everyone who knew who he was died in the attack.”

“And now he’s talking to you.”

“Yes.” 

Sokka thinks this over. 

“He doesn’t take too kindly to visitors,” the airbender who took Taktentakau’s message in the clearing calls over the wind. He has introduced himself as Tseten. “And he doesn’t give away much when he does talk, either.”

“We’ve been warned,” Sokka says, attempting for nonchalance. The thought of confronting those razor-sharp limbs and monstrous eyes again makes him shudder. 

Tseten and his bison drop them off on the eastern edge of Long-Neck Island, soaring back off to the temple quickly. Sokka tries not to feel too abandoned. 

“Was he really that bad?” Zuko asks as they crunch through the forest. 

“Oh, yeah,” says Sokka, beating back a fern. “And then some. My words can’t really do him justice.”

“But you still wanted to come.”

“Yeah, well.” Sokka shrugs. “Didn’t want to spend another day babysitting our friend Bitey here. And I wanted a change of scenery.” 

They wander for another tense half an hour before Zuko speaks up again, somewhat awkwardly, turning red. “Sokka… I wanted to, uh-- thanks for coming to the temple to look for me.”

“Yeah, well.” Sokka clears his throat. He can feel his face heating. “You’re welcome. Just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you.” No, no, this is worse, this is sappier than it should be, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Sorry I kind of… fucked it up.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily, Zuko appears to have also had enough of embarrassing himself, and subsides into silence for another few minutes. However, when he appears to have got up his nerve again, he blurts, “Why don’t you like the Air Temple?”

Sokka trips over a root, and Zuko grabs his elbow. Sokka steadies himself, brushing himself off, not meeting Zuko’s eyes. “Uh…”

“Is there something dangerous there? Something they’re hiding?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” They set off again, following the course of a small stream. “It’s just… a weird place.”

“What about it?”

“Just certain… things… they do, or did, that are kind of… uncomfortable.” Sokka pulls off his boots and splashes down the shallow bank into the stream. The water and smooth stones feel nice on his tired feet.

Zuko pauses cautiously. “What things?”

Sokka sighs, considering how to talk about this. Now that they’re off-Temple, maybe he can… “It’s just… you know there’s no Air Temple non-benders.”

“Yeah. I mean, no, I mean… uh-huh.”

“Yeah. It’s because their, uh-- practices of…” He tries to find the words, not having expressed this aloud before. “...heightened spirituality, or whatever-- they do it so much that all kids are born benders now. And it just makes me a little… uncomfortable… the idea of being bred out of existence for not being good enough.” He coughs. “Or something. Not that I’m trying to say their culture sucks, or anything, or that they’re all assholes, but I just…” He stands limply in the water, feeling the current tug at his skin. “I don’t like being here. I don’t like thinking about how people might see me.” 

“Oh.” 

Poor guy. He is clearly very poorly equipped to deal with the sort of thing that Sokka’s just told him. “It’s not a big deal.” Sokka shrugs and starts up walking again, splashing along in the stream.

“I get it. I mean, I don’t, because I’m a firebender, but I… understand feeling like I might be a failure.” Zuko plods along on the bank beside him, gaze fixed straight ahead. “To be honest, I… didn’t just run away from my family in the North. I did…” His jaw clenches. “... something that was unforgivable. Or that they thought was unforgivable. I brought shame to my family. Or, uh… that’s what they thought. I told them about something I… felt… and they didn’t like it.”

“People are just shitty sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

“Very daring to walk so casually in my realm,” a voice scoffs.

They both jump. In the trees off to their left has appeared Taktentakau’s giant, triangular head. It tilts in a jocular way as he watches them back up. 

“Or were you not aware of my presence?”

“No, we were aware,” calls Sokka somewhat defiantly. His skin crawls, and he deeply regrets following Tseten’s advice to show that they don’t carry any weapons. “We came to ask you something, actually. I-If that’s okay.” He spares a glance at Zuko, who looks distinctly pale.

“Me?” Taktentakau blinks his huge eyelids, and Sokka puts in effort not to shudder. “Ah, I see… this is about that message from this morning, isn’t it?” He stoops with threatening speed, face a mere foot from Sokka’s. The eyes of his dual faces are yellow-green and compound under their human lashes. “I think I saw you there.”

“What can you tell us about the Avatar?” Zuko speaks up hoarsely. 

The head swivels to fix on him. “Hmm, not much. I’m not a messenger hawk. That was a one-time deal.”

“Not even his name?”

Shining mandibles wave with a hissing sound as the faces laugh. “I never caught it.”

“How did he contact you?”

“Why should I tell you?” Taktentakau goes unpleasantly still. “Why shouldn’t I grab you and begin eating your limbs? I could, you know. You’ve been very disrespectful.”

“Because we… have good intentions?” Sokka attempts after a shaky breath. “I mean, we do. We’re--”

Taktentakau clicks his tongues. “I don’t _care_. You clearly have no benefit to offer me.”

Sokka’s pounding heart suddenly reminds him how very fragile his human body is.

“But I’m in a good mood today. As long as you go and leave me in peace, that is.” He backs up, allowing Sokka and Zuko to breathe freely again. “You can’t find a past Avatar. Only a present Avatar can do that. A word of advice: make friends with a spirit.” He backs into the trees, laughing again. “Not that you have much chance of that.”

They stand stiffly for a full minute before Sokka lets out an unsteady breath and turns to Zuko, who looks just as rattled as Sokka feels. “So I guess that was a dead end.”

The dragon cautiously pokes his nose out from under Zuko’s shirt.

“He said to make friends with other spirits. We can start there,” Zuko says.

They begin hiking back the way they came.

“Hopefully some of them are better-tempered than him,” Sokka says quietly enough that only Zuko can hear. Best not to take his chances.

They make it back to the beach just in time to see Tseten soaring up. He perks up when he sees them. “Oh, good,” he sighs. “I thought I might have to go in there and find you. Still have all your limbs?”

On their way down the path back to the ship, they spot a lone figure standing silently in the trees. 

“Wangmo?” Sokka calls dubiously. 

She turns, dead-eyed. “Oh… hello.” Behind her sits a patch full of ripe cloudberries. 

Sokka is sorry he said anything, but now that he has… “Um… I’m sorry about what happened.”

She nods listlessly. 

Sokka glances at Zuko for help, fruitlessly. “If there’s… anything we can do…”

She nods again. 

A heavy silence descends for a few moments, until Zuko suddenly says, “Do you still want to take the dragon for a flight?”

Her large brown eyes immediately well up with tears, and Sokka and Zuko exchange looks of mutual horrified incompetence.

“Of course. A short one,” she murmurs.

She keeps her face planted into her bison’s fur for half the flight, sniffling. The dragon seems to be having the time of his life, perched on the rim of the saddle and snout straight up in the air, whiskers flapping in the wind. The bison, seemingly aware of Wangmo’s distress, gently circles the island.

“There, there,” says Zuko delicately, going to pat her back, but only managing one pat before he seems to think better of it. 

“Thank you,” Wangmo croaks. She wipes her face with her sleeve. “This is really kind of you.”

“It’s nothing,” says Sokka.

She takes a deep, wobbly breath and lifts her head. The dragon opens his wings and drops from the bison, soaring alongside them. The sunset is painting the clouds various shades of pink and orange, and the breeze is mild and warm. 

She meets their eyes and nods, and then looks out at the horizon. They spend the rest of the flight in silence.

Upon touchdown, the dragon allows Wangmo to pet him again. Leaning limply against her bison and face twisted in worry, she absolutely tugs at Sokka’s heartstrings, but they have to move on with the ship tomorrow morning. There’s nothing more they can do.

She clears her throat. “If he still doesn’t have a name, can I suggest one?”

“What?” says Zuko.

“How about ‘Druk’?” she says quietly. “It means ‘friend.’”

Upon seeing the tentative, momentary relaxation on Wangmo’s face as she scratches under the dragon’s chin, and the small nod Zuko gives him, Sokka finds himself agreeing. “Sounds good to me.”


	4. The Circus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all so much for the continued support!

“I thought you had him!”

“Why would I have him?! I was carrying him all morning and we usually switch off every few hours, so I thought _you_ had him!” snaps Sokka.

“Well, you didn’t _say_ anything, so how was I supposed to know you wanted me to take him?” Zuko scrambles up an immaculately manicured tree on the side of the road, shading his eyes in the late afternoon sunlight.

Nothing the way they’d come, nothing the way they’d been headed. And nothing but rabbit-gophers in the nearby yards, though the intricately shaped stone walls surrounding each property may be hiding much more from his sight. “Druk?” he calls.

“He’s not going to know his name yet,” says Sokka in exasperation, peering under the nearby hedges, “it hasn’t even been two weeks!”

“You think of something, then!”

Sokka digs through his pack and extracts a bag of seal jerky. “Walk around with this or something. He’s always looking for this stuff.”

Zuko jumps down from the tree, frankly annoyed that this seems like a perfectly reasonable idea. 

“Okay, you go left, I’ll go right,” Sokka says, doling out the seal jerky. “We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

“Fine.” Zuko turns toward his own path. 

As he stomps along, the shrubbery seems to get more and more elaborate. A plethora of flowers in shades of violet, vermillion, and pale yellow, among others, decorate all that he can see of the spacious gardens. The houses are just as diverse in type and color, painted shades of light green, warm brown, and rose, each with its own elaborate entryway, some with turrets, arches, or gates. 

Zuko resumes calling anyway, though more quietly. At one point he finds a stunned woman with a starched white apron gawking at him from a window as he peers behind someone’s sundial. He might have accidentally glared at her. He leaves the vicinity of that house quickly. 

It’s not as if they could just leave him here-- who knows what could happen, someone might try to sell him or hurt him or worse-- but after their long trek from the dock in Gao Ling, through the city, and then through its neighboring eastward settlements right to the tip of Snake-tail Gulf, Zuko’s not feeling particularly charitable. When he finds him, Druk will definitely only get five or so treats that day, and he’s not sleeping in Zuko’s bedroll either. Okay, well, maybe he can still do that. Wouldn’t want him to get too cold. 

For the first time, he sees another person walking along the street in the distance. He scowls steadfastly at the opposite side of the street. 

“Hey!” he hears, and looks up. 

It’s Sokka, hurrying towards him.

“Wait…” Zuko checks behind him. “I’m sure I…”

“I think it’s a circle,” says Sokka glumly. “We might have to backtrack.”

Zuko sighs. He feels vaguely guilty for being angry in the first place, and tired, and kind of hungry...? As they stand looking around, he notices that it smells like smoke. 

He sniffs again. A rich aroma of succulently cooked meat drifts their way. 

“Someone must be barbecuing,” says Sokka. 

They look at each other with identical expressions of startled dread.

They creep along the street, stopping every now and then to sniff, shading their eyes to look wildly for smoke in the sky. 

At some point the sound of genteel chatter becomes clear, and the smells become stronger. One estate with trees bordering its wall seems to be the source. 

Zuko scrambles up one of these, peering through the leaves cautiously. 

“Do you see him?” Sokka hisses up at him.

At this moment, Druk trots around the chimney on the roof of the house so that even Sokka can see him. A charred piece of meat twice the size of his head is clamped firmly in his jaws.

“Druk!” Zuko whispers, and the dragon looks up immediately. 

He considers Zuko for a moment, and then sits down where he is and begins chowing down with what can only be described as smug satisfaction.

So he _does_ know his name, the little bastard. 

“Druk, come on!” Zuko waves a piece of seal jerky at him in desperation, but Druk doesn’t budge. “I can’t grab him. It’s just a little too far.”

He glances downwards. The shapes of people moving around in the courtyard below are obscured by the same leaves that thankfully screen him. There’s no way he could climb onto the roof fully without being seen. He glances down at Sokka. “Can you come up and hold on to me? I think I can grab him if I can just get a little closer.”

“Oh, uh. Sure.” Sokka tentatively puts his hand on a branch and begins hoisting himself up. In conjunction, Druk shifts to settle a slight bit farther away. 

“Can you go a little faster?”

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

“Have you never climbed a tree before?” says Zuko in realization, watching him struggle.

“ _No._ How many _trees_ do you see in the Southern Water Tribe?” 

“Look-- grab on here--” Zuko grips his hand, helping him to scramble up.

By the time they are at an even height, Druk has idly risen to his feet again, most of the meat now demolished, and shows all signs of preparing to swoop down upon the partygoers again. 

“Hold onto the trunk, and grab my arm,” Zuko says. 

Sokka eyes the branch he’s standing on dubiously and grips Zuko’s wrist nearly tight enough to hurt. Zuko shuffles slowly out onto the branch. 

“Come here, Druk.”

Druk looks at him sideways. 

“Come on…”

Zuko stretches his arm out as far as he can go, mere inches from Druk. The branch trembles. He leans out a little farther. Druk cocks his head. 

Suddenly a crack splits the air, and the branch swings downward. Screams ring out, and they crash through a table covered with various dishes and vases and collapse on rocky ground. 

“Call the magistrate!” a voice shrieks. Shocked mutterings break out.

Dazed, Zuko makes an attempt to scramble upright on his aching elbows, but encounters some difficulty in removing Sokka’s groaning weight from over his middle. A small breeze flutters against his face as Druk swoops in to perch on his chest, tail waving and fangs bared majestically. He looses a spurt of fire protectively in the direction of the crowd.

“MY HAIR!” someone yelps, and Zuko raises his head enough to spot a man floundering nearby in the crowd, his head smoking. A half dozen glasses of wine are immediately flung in his face, and he gasps, spluttering. 

“How-- _dare_ \-- you--” the man puffs, “what right do you have peeping-- you have just ruined _everything!_ I have been in Chen Shi for thirty years, and as a friend of the mayor--”

“Okay, um--” Sokka clambers to his feet, wincing, and Zuko follows as quickly as he can. “First of all-- sorry we just fell on your table. And second of all, this is all just a big misunderstanding--”

A new quartet come clattering into the courtyard: the woman with the apron Zuko saw near the sundial, and three men with thick beards and rectangular hats. Zuko belatedly seizes Druk. 

“You see!” babbles the woman, “he _was_ creeping--”

The men give Zuko and Sokka disapproving onceovers and move forward. 

An arm whips out to block the runners’ path. “Everyone, I think I can clear up what happened here.”

The crowd shuffles in amazement, and Zuko catches sight of a short girl in silken green. Her hair covers her eyes. 

“These are two of my servants. Just before the party, my dear sweet pet dragon sadly escaped and went missing.” She hugs herself tightly and seems to shrink, voice positively saccharine. “My servants agreed to keep searching for him, but my dragon found me himself! My servants were only trying to get him down from the roof for me. After all, I could never do it myself, and I couldn’t interrupt the party-- but I was just so worried about him!” She sniffles and collapses to her knees. “I’m so sorry for their behavior. I just feel so guilty that I ruined your party, Mr. Qing, sir. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh… um…” The man dripping in wine seems a little lost for words. He looks to the magistrate’s runners beseechingly.

One of the runners bends down to touch the girl’s shoulder gently. “What is your name, my dear?”

“Toph Bei Fong, sir,” she warbles. She whisks a green passport with a shiny golden seal out of her pocket and presents it. “Of course, my family will pay for all the damages.”

The assembly, stunned, gazes at the seal as if it is emitting the light of heaven. Zuko looks at Sokka, whose expression plainly expresses the same panicked bafflement that Zuko feels.

The runner exchanges a nod with his partners and clears his throat. “Mr. Qing?”

“Oh, of course,” Qing stutters, sounding mortified. He bows. “Miss Bei Fong, please accept my apologies. If I had known we had a Bei Fong in attendance, I-- There’s no need to pay for the damages-- the table is old, anyway! Don’t trouble yourself.”

After several more minutes of elaborate apologies, bowing, and goodbyes, Miss Bei Fong makes her way to the exit, and Zuko and Sokka, sensing an out, follow stiffly. She grips Zuko’s arm as she makes her way slowly over the threshold of the elaborate double doors, her other arm out to pat the objects in her path. She’s blind, Zuko realizes.

The four of them at last make their way down the street enough to turn the corner. 

The girl drops Zuko’s arm, expression morphing from meek to calculating, and flips her demure silken sash over her shoulder like a towel. “All right, let’s cut to the chase,” she says, business-like. “I just saved your asses, big time. I want you to come work with me and my associates for a few weeks to pay me back. What do you say?”

“Okay, first of all: servants? Second of all: What do you want us for?” says Sokka warily as Zuko tries to adjust to the whiplash of her changing demeanor. 

“Hey, you should be thanking me. Especially since it’s not really you we want, it’s that dragon.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Zuko grips Druk a little tighter, thankful that he seems content to stay put for the moment.

“Introduce him to show biz,” she says breezily. “If you’re heading east, that’s the direction we’re going.”

Zuko looks at Sokka, who shrugs. They do have to get to Chameleon Bay, the fastest way to travel by boat up the rivers northwards. 

“What kind of show business?” Zuko finds himself asking. 

They walk for about thirty minutes until they have reached the eastern end of the town and come to fields and pastures. In one unfenced field, they leave the road and approach a cluster of tents.

The main tent is massive and garishly striped with green and red, and the smell of hay permeates the area. Some of the other tents, littered with sewn patches, drunkenly lean one way or the other over the packed earth ground. A young man sitting against the side of a tent sits hunched over polishing a tambourine.

Toph leads them around one of the smaller tents until they reach an entrance flap. Guiding them inside, she marches up to an older woman with curly gray hair, whose shiny black boots are propped up on a desk.

“I think I’ve found our ticket out of this,” Toph announces with glee, slamming her hands down on the desk. 

The woman looks up from the sheaf of papers she’s holding, and her eyes immediately alight on the dragon. She jumps up, her chair scraping. “Is this-- no--” She rounds the table quickly and leans in close to Druk, examining him in wonder. 

Druk snaps at one of her hair curls.

She jerks back and breaks into a hearty laugh. “Toph, this is-- incredible! Where did you find him? He’s perfect!”

“In Chen Shi, at Qing’s house,” Toph replies smugly. “He practically fell into my lap. I don’t know jack shit what he looks like, but I already know people will go _wild_ to see him. It doesn’t even matter that I didn’t get Qing to patronize us. Except that-- well, they only agreed to a few weeks.”

The woman’s smile fades a little.

“Hi, uh, excuse me,” Sokka butts in, peeved, “we’re here too, you know.”

“My apologies.” The older woman bows. She smiles searchingly at Sokka, and then at Zuko. “My name is Tomoe. I’m the ringmaster here. And you’ve already met Toph.” 

Toph grins. 

“What do you want him to do?” says Zuko warningly.

“Nothing harmful, I promise you.” Tomoe walks around Zuko to scrutinize Druk from a better angle. “Just amazing. He doesn’t even have to do anything much-- simply put him on a stool and throw him treats, maybe have him breathe some fire… We don’t typically use animal performers, I want to make clear. I wouldn’t even be considering it if not for, well...” She sighs. “...our dire financial straits.” Her smile reappears blindingly. “But the show must go on, of course.” 

“What’s the catch?” Sokka asks suspiciously.

Tomoe appears to think for a moment. “Well, I guess we would have you muck out the stables as needed-- no one here ever wants to do that-- maybe put you to work as tent-hands…”

“So you’re not going to kill us, dump our bodies in a ditch, and sell him for a million gold pieces?” Sokka says wryly.

“No, of course not. We might be a little bit-- wily, I guess, would be the word-- but I promise you: we’re not monsters.” She winks. “We won’t keep you here by force.” 

Zuko and Sokka duck out of the tent briefly to talk it over.

“I can’t say I really trust them,” whispers Sokka, “but if it turns out all right, we wouldn’t have to figure out our own transportation until Chameleon Bay.”

“And if they’ve traveled a lot,” Zuko says lowly, “they might know something useful about the Avatar.”

They reenter the tent.

“We’ll do it,” says Sokka. 

Toph shows them to one of the larger tents. “The circus is staying here this week,” she says, lifting the flap. “Our next show is the day after tomorrow, so we’ve gotta get that dragon trained.”

Inside, a girl wanders across a tightrope a story up; another sits reading a book with one hand as she tosses knives with the other at a dummy strapped to a large wooden circle. 

“Who’s that?” the tightrope girl says, now balancing on her head, looking at Zuko and Sokka. Her eyes find Druk, and she squeals. She darts to the ladder and jumps off halfway up, landing lightly and running towards them. “Is that a dragon?!”

The girl throwing knives looks up from her book.

Toph introduces the tightrope girl as Ty Lee, and the other as Mai. Toph briefly explains the situation to the duo.

“He’s so cute!” giggles Ty Lee, scratching the back of Druk’s neck.

“He’s all right,” says Mai, having approached, appraising the dragon and then Sokka and Zuko. She turns to fling the last knife she’s holding, which hits the board a centimeter away from the dummy’s neck with a thunk. “I’ll like him better if he actually saves this place.”

“Yeah, about that,” Sokka says doubtfully, “he’s not super well-trained.”

“We wouldn’t be here if he was,” says Zuko darkly, reflecting on the fact that today has been the second time Druk has made him fall off a roof. 

“He kind of has this biting habit--”

Ty Lee snatches her hand back. 

“Of course,” Mai sighs. 

“I’m in charge of the animals we keep,” says Ty Lee. “We’ve got a few ostrich-horses, and our four dog-oxen, which are our pack animals.” She eyes Druk curiously. “We’ve never had a dragon here before, though. Is he responsive to food?” 

“Oh, yeah. Very responsive,” says Zuko.

“That’s good! That should make him easier to train.”

They begin by letting Druk acclimate to Ty Lee’s presence. Mai goes back to her knife-throwing and her book, though more than once Zuko catches her watching them. Toph sits nearby in open interest.

As far as Druk is concerned, he is getting twice as many treats as usual today, and once he gets over her initial newness, he seems unfairly uninterested in dealing the same nips to Ty Lee as he has been giving to Zuko and Sokka for the past month. Is is possible that they are a sign of affection...?

After about an hour, Toph leads them all to another tent, this one filled with the smells of cooking. Two cauldrons, one filled with rice, another with a sort of vegetable stew, sit in the back of the tent. There are no tables. A number of barrels are occupied-- though, Zuko notices, not nearly all of them-- by people sitting. 

“Here,” Toph presses a couple of bowls into Zuko’s chest. “We have lots of extras now.”

Zuko and Sokka choose a pair of barrels near Toph as Tomoe breezes into the tent. 

“Evening, all,” she says, lighthearted, as she produces her own bowl and begins spooning out her portion. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed we have some newcomers.”

Half the tent’s occupants glance at Sokka, Zuko, and, especially, at Druk.

“Yes, that is a dragon. His name is Druk, and he, Sokka, and Zuko are here to give us a little bit of a boost at our next shows.” She turns around. 

“I know we’ve fallen on some hard times lately.” Tomoe looks around at the thirty or so people in the room, suddenly serious. “But none of us are the quitting type, and that stubborn independence is exactly the sort of attitude we’re going to carry through to the end. Whenever that comes.” She nods once and takes her leave, sweeping out of the room with the same grace with which she entered.

Ty Lee stands as Tomoe exits as if to follow, but Mai puts her hand on her elbow. Reluctantly, Ty Lee sits down again, murmuring, “She always eats with us…” so quietly that Zuko almost doesn’t catch it.

“So where are you from?” says a nearby performer eagerly. “What’s your story?”

Briefly Sokka reiterates their respective goals of locating his sister and the Avatar. He lists Zuko as being from the Southern Fire Nation, for which Zuko is grateful.

“The Avatar?” says Mai skeptically.

“Aw, let him live,” says Ty Lee playfully, leaning into her. “It _could_ happen.”

“Someone here could have seen something, heard something-- you’ve traveled all over, haven’t you?” Zuko presses. 

“Just because we’ve traveled doesn’t mean we’re up to date on all the local myths,” says Mai lazily.

“What about that time in Gao Ling when Zhuzha dated that guy who claimed he could earthbend _and_ waterbend--?” calls a woman across the tent, giggling.

“Don’t remind me!” groans Toph. “I so wish I could scrub that from my brain--”

Laughter breaks out and someone throws a spoon; even Mai cracks a slight smile.

Zuko glances at Sokka, who shrugs cluelessly at him. Zuko feels newly grateful for his and Druk’s presences. This easy, familiar chatter-- it makes him almost uncomfortable for the rest of the meal.

They spend the night in a tent with about half of the others. There is abundant space, and Zuko wonders exactly how many people have left. He and Sokka wordlessly stake out one of the front corners. 

As Zuko pulls out his bedroll, something slips out of his pack and begins rolling away. 

Sokka catches it. “What’s this?”

Zuko takes the wooden circle, painted lotus faded from years of handling, from Sokka’s unresisting hands. He carefully tucks it back away. “Pai sho tile. It’s my uncle’s favorite game.”

“Does he live in the Southern Fire Nation too?”

“Yeah.” Zuko unrolls his blankets, considering how much to say. “I followed him there.”

“What for?” Sokka lies back on his own bedroll. 

“Long story.”

Sokka accepts this. “I almost think I should have gone with Katara. Would’ve been pointless though, especially if nothing bad happened.”

“Why was she training in the North?”

“The benders we have in the South didn’t have anything left of Southern waterbending to teach her,” says Sokka, sounding proud. "She's kind of a prodigy." 

He looks around, his smile fading, and lowers his voice. “It’s kind of awkward being here with these guys, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Zuko pauses in his movements at the possible threat of embarrassment. 

“Nothing. It’s just like-- they all seem so close with each other. Like a family. I feel like we’re kind of interlopers.”

“Yeah. I guess we are.” What is it not to be an interloper, for Zuko? His plethora of mistakes have made him an imposter in both North and South, let alone the rest of the world.

“Well.” Sokka pats around, checking for his sword tucked beside his bedroll. “Who gets first Druk-watching duty tomorrow? So we don’t repeat what happened this morning.”

They rock-paper-scissors for it. Zuko plays scissors. Sokka plays rock.

At least, Zuko thinks as he begins to drift off, Druk curled up against his shoulder and Sokka’s breathing most prominent out of all the sleeping noises in the tent, they’re out of place here _together._


	5. Fires and Knives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up for you, there's a little more violence than usual this chapter, but I would say nothing above a PG-13. Other than that, thank you all, you've been great!!

Druk’s official training begins the next morning. It soon becomes clear, though, that that is easier said than done. Zuko knows for a fact that the issue here is not intelligence-- Druk just doesn’t _want_ to be trained. It’s easy enough to get him to light treats on fire, to Ty Lee’s obvious delight, but not as simple to get him to do anything else, including to stay in one spot for a few minutes no matter how comfortable they try to make it. Zuko’s starting to dread the possibility of having to stand in the ring during performances and hold him. 

After some time, Zuko collapses back against the worn wooden fence that borders the area behind the tents, sweaty and sore, as Sokka relieves him in the training area. “Why do I keep failing at everything I set out to do?” he mutters vehemently.

“No luck, huh?” 

He starts. Toph has been quietly sitting on the fence, half hidden by the leaves and shade of a large tree. This time she is dressed in a rough tunic and breeches.

“He’s stubborn,” says Zuko after a moment.

“No kidding. I’ve been sitting here for an hour and I don’t think he’s done a single thing you wanted him to.” She snorts out a laugh. She is bending a nail that has come loose from the fence and crumpling it this way and that like putty.

In the field, Sokka has just tripped over Druk’s tail, and Ty Lee does an easy flip to avoid being hit.

“Honestly, I don’t think you guys even need to bother. People will come to see him no matter what he does. It’s not a failure.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Toph tilts her head.

“All of you here have something unique, and you’re using your talents in a way that everyone likes. It’s not the same…” He trails off, having been about to hotly declare another mysterious tidbit about things he’s not quite ready to fully talk about. He really has to stop doing that.

“Seriously?” Toph raises her eyebrows. “Do you think we’d be here, in the circus, if we weren’t all sort of failures?” 

“Aren’t you part of an extremely wealthy family?”

She kicks her heels against the fence. “I used to be.”

“Then, what was all that at the party?”

“Oh, that.” She grins. “I was using my parents’ money for the circus for a long time. They finally cut me off a year ago. But I still have the family seal, and my family name still carries weight around here. It’s useful.” She shrugs and pauses. “I was never going to be what they wanted me to be.” 

“You left.” He looks out at the field, the wind fluttering gently against his face. 

“Yup.” Only a slight trace of pain remains in her gruff tone. “Best decision I ever made. I belong here. No need to care about all the other assholes in the world.”

They’re interrupted by a shout of “OW!” and Sokka’s corresponding yell of “SORRY!”

“Take Ty Lee, for instance. Bet you think she was born and bred into circus life.”

Watching Ty Lee lightly flip and twirl around the field, Zuko has to admit that she looks it. 

“Well, she wasn’t.” Here she pauses. “You’re Northern Fire Nation, aren’t you?”

Zuko looks at her sharply.

“I can tell because you talk the way she does. Ty Lee’s from there, too.”

“What do you--”

“Relax, relax,” says Toph airily, “no one cares.” She shrugs. “She was minor nobility in a town near the Northern border. Mai was in the same boat, except on the other side in the South. Instead of sticking with their duty to continue the war, they came here. They haven’t been back in like a decade.”

And Zuko feels a surge of pity and empathy as all of it pokes at his mind again-- the hellish experience of crossing the border, and what came before and after… 

He glances up at Ty Lee, watching her dangle a strip of meat in front of Druk’s snout. 

“So don’t take it too hard,” says Toph. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Right,” says Zuko, unable to think of anything more adequate. He watches the spectacle of Druk’s “training” as his thoughts whirl. Toph seems to have said her piece. The two of them sit silently for some time.

When the sun has reached its greatest height, Sokka begins jogging toward them, looking pleased.

Toph slips off the fence. “Well, I gotta go. Things to do.” She begins walking back towards the tents.

“Hey, we got him to sit still for a full three minutes! We’re gonna take a break, and then--” Sokka pauses when he sees Zuko’s face. “What’s wrong?” He spots Toph walking away. “Did she say something to you?”

Zuko tries to pull his thoughts together. “Yeah. But it wasn’t anything bad, just…” He struggles with his words for a second or two, and then shrugs. “It was just unexpected. That’s all.”

“Well, okay,” says Sokka slowly.

Druk jumps onto the fence beside Zuko and slips onto his shoulders. Zuko pats his head absently.

Zuko and Sokka take it in turns to keep Druk company during performances. Truth be told, just as Tomoe predicted, they mostly consist of the crowd oohing and aahing over him as he barbecues strips of meat in midair. And Druk does seem to be bringing in crowds, to all the circus workers’ delight. Tomoe spares them a smile and a wink with each success, but when she leaves the big top after each show or rehearsal, they hardly see her.

Zuko’s Avatar-related inquiries do not turn up much. More depressingly, neither do his questions about missing airbender children. And as for Taktentakau’s warning, they see neither hide nor hair of a single spirit even as they move east and north with the circus. 

Two and a half weeks later find them in Harpoon City, one stop away from the shores of Chameleon Bay. There are no shows today, and most of the performers have gone into the nearby town. It’s raining.

For the moment, Zuko is setting aside Avatar and responsibility and thinking only about the best way to stave off boredom for the moment. There’s no use in practicing tricks with a fire-breathing dragon inside a flammable tent.

“I’m bored,” sighs Sokka, chin in his palm. He looks around. “I wish we could spar, but there’s no room in here.”

“We could go to a different tent.” Zuko glances out the tent flap to see torrents of drenching rain lashing down and fierce gusts of wind shaking the tents. “...or not.”

“You could try juggling again.” Sokka smirks.

“No,” says Zuko firmly. The cook is going to have a difficult enough time recovering from that knock on the head as is.

“Hopefully the weather will be better tomorrow.” Sokka lowers his voice. “By the way, I’ve been thinking. We’re due to leave soon. What are they going to do when we’re gone?”

“You’ve bought us time,” says a gloomy voice, and they look up. 

Mai stands over them. “Tomoe’s leveraging all her connections to figure out something new. Something that’ll last.” She offers a small wooden box to them with a sigh. “Here. I was getting tired of your whining.”

Sokka takes the box and opens it along its single hinge. Inside are a number of smooth pits, filled with small rocks, beans, and a shiny glass stone or two.

“Thanks,” says Zuko.

Mai shrugs.

“Ooh, are we having a board game party?” Ty Lee calls across the tent, wiggling a go board. 

The others performers still at camp join in, and soon the tent is filled with laughter and talk even as the rain slows and stops. After a furious two out of three of mancala with Sokka, which Zuko won-- it would have been out of five except at that point they had to stop Druk from eating the shiny stones-- Zuko finds himself opposite Ty Lee at the go board. 

“You know, maybe you guys should just stay,” says Ty Lee hopefully, scratching the back of Druk’s neck as Zuko considers his next move.

Zuko glances up at her, and back down at the board. “I’m sorry, but we can’t.”

“We have some hard times, but we’re happy here. We don’t have to worry about anything outside.” 

Zuko looks up at her fully. “But the war has to end. I can’t just stop caring.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be up to you,” says Ty Lee, placing another stone. “Don’t you want to get out?”

“I can’t,” says Zuko insistently. He thinks back on everything he’s done wrong. “I still have things I need to fix.”

“Well, what if you just… started over new?” Ty Lee shrugs at him cheerfully. “Wouldn’t it better, to find your happiness while you can, where you can? I know it sounds like I just want you to stay because Druk’s bringing in audiences again. But I mean it.” 

“You don’t miss anything? Or anyone?” 

“Who has time for that?” She gestures around at them all. “We all try our best not to think about it here. You don’t have to. Just forget. I belong at this circus, and so do Mai and Toph.” She sets another stone down. “What happens outside isn’t any of my business anymore. It doesn’t have to be. And I’m happier that way.” She tilts her head. “Just think about it.”

Zuko looks around for Mai and Toph-- is this really what their philosophy is?-- but can find only Mai, picking her nails and watching a pai sho match. “Where is Toph?”

“She said she was going to get the playing cards.”

Druk unexpectedly chooses this moment to slink under Zuko’s shirt, making a loud squeaking noise. Zuko looks down, attempting to gently pull him out, but he scrabbles furiously to stay underneath, squeaking all the while. Zuko sweeps his gaze across the tent-- nothing seems out of order. And Druk doesn’t appear to have injured himself, nor has he missed any meals. In fact, he has never done this before.

Zuko walks over to the tent flap and looks out, but he finds no movement among the tents and mud. 

“Is that Druk?” Zuko hears Sokka call behind him. 

Zuko turns to see him approaching, game momentarily abandoned. “Yeah.”

“What’s he doing?” Sokka peers out the flap himself curiously.

Reluctant though he is to go out, Zuko goes to fetch his cloak. He steps out of the tent and takes a few experimental steps forward. Druk continues his squeaking. A slight splashing alerts him that Sokka has followed him. 

They walk aimlessly in and around the tents, avoiding muddy puddles, and find nothing of interest, though Druk doesn’t let up the squeaking. 

It is only when they approach the forest edge of the clearing where the circus has stopped that Zuko begins to understand. Druk’s claws are digging into Zuko’s ribs. Zuko glances down at one of his own footprints to find revealed, half buried in the mud under the shadow of the trees, one of Toph’s green hairpins. 

Zuko holds it out to Sokka. “She could have dropped it,” he says cautiously.

“But why would she be over here in the first place? In this weather?” Sokka peers into the shadow of the trees. 

They hurry back to the encampment and perform a check of all the tents, but no one has seen Toph. 

“Would she have gone in there herself?” says Sokka after relating the story of the hairpin.

“Not likely.” Mai stares moodily out at the blustering winds and grey sky. “We don’t usually go in there. Something might have upset her. But even then she wouldn’t have gone in far.”

“She hasn’t even been gone for ten minutes,” points out one of the stage hands with a shrug. “And she does go off by herself sometimes. I don’t think it’s time to worry yet.”

“If she wouldn’t have gone in far, then there’s no reason not to check.” Zuko glances around at them all, Druk’s squeaking still setting his nerves on edge. “Right?” 

“Right.” Ty Lee bounces from foot to foot anxiously.

So Zuko, Sokka, Ty Lee, Mai, and three of the others trail out through the mud, leaving four behind. They begin calling for Toph immediately once they hit the forest, but hear no answer. After ten minutes of walking with no signs of her, they all range off in different directions. 

Zuko remembers the Southern Air Temple and has a horrible sense of deja vu. It’s a cruel irony that in their low visibility under the combination of fog, overcast sky, and the shadows of the trees, the person who would be best suited to finding Toph is Toph.

Zuko and Sokka soon hike up a steep hill as the forest marches onwards back from the circus. Druk has moved on to ominous hissing, nipping, and squirming. The forest is silent but for the crunching of twigs under their feet and the dripping of water. 

“It’s getting dark,” says Zuko. He looks around. They’ve been going the same direction, so at least they’re not lost, but they might be if they keep on much longer. He firebends a small flame that he holds in his hand. 

“She might have gone back to the tents while we were gone,” says Sokka uncomfortably, the light flickering on his face. 

Zuko glances at Druk, still resolutely burrowed under his shirt and squeaking. 

“Maybe we should check back at camp, and if she’s not there, we could go into the town,” says Sokka, taking a couple experimental steps backwards. “Maybe somebody there knows this forest and can help us look--”

With a yelp, he seems to get swallowed up by the undergrowth.

“Sokka!” Zuko rushes to the spot.

“I’m okay!” The undergrowth seems to shiver, and Zuko spots Sokka’s hands shoving it away from below in the dim light. 

Zuko stoops down to look. Sokka is looking up at him from a narrow rocky pit. What had appeared to be undergrowth had actually been an ingeniously woven net of branches and leaves which had covered the opening. 

Sokka glances behind him. “There’s a cave-- a tunnel down here. I don’t know how deep it goes.” He looks back up at Zuko. “But this mat wouldn’t be here if no one was using it. We need to check.”

As they peer into the darkness, a shiver goes down Zuko’s spine. 

Cautiously, Zuko lowers himself into the pit, and they begin descending slowly. The pit leads into a rocky tunnel, large enough for them to walk side by side. At some points, it widens into caverns of varying sizes, most of them filled with dripping stalactites and stalagmites. They see passages that lead off in other directions, but in every cavern all except one is blocked straightforwardly by a large rock directly in the middle. This path has been made deliberately. 

They walk for some time with nothing but a gut feeling to raise their suspicions, but after rounding another bend, a muffled shout echoes upwards from the depths. 

Druk scrambles out from Zuko’s shirt and scampers back up the tunnel. Zuko grabs for him, but he slips out of his hands.

“Druk!” Zuko hisses as loudly as he dares, but the dragon does not return.

He starts back up the tunnel, but Sokka catches his arm. 

“We have to deal with whoever’s down here,” Sokka says quietly. “We’ll find him when we come back out.”

Zuko acquiesces reluctantly.

As they go, they hear more shouts, and the yelling, though inarticulate, finally becomes unmistakably Toph. They begin to see the suggestions of lantern light. At last they round a corner to see the passage ahead widening into a smaller cavern. They can hear the voices clearly.

“You absolute _morons,”_ someone is growling, incensed, “you _said_ it was a little kid!”

“It’s not our fault she’s baby-faced!” snaps another voice.

There is a spitting noise, and then Toph snarls, “You slimy-ass rat bastards better _hope_ you’re far away from here when I get out of this, because I’m going to rip out your spines and shove them so far up your ass you’re gonna be able to taste them--”

“Would you put the rag back in?! You can’t even manage the simplest fucking task--” The first voice again.

Toph’s yelling becomes vague and muffled again, though still impressively loud for the circumstances.

They hear the sound of quick footsteps, and another person appears to enter from another entrance. “Fuck this,” they say nervously, out of breath.

“Did you do it?” The first voice.

_Do what?_ thinks Zuko.

“Yeah. But, um-- some of them are searching in the forest anyway. I think you might have left something behind.”

“We-- _I_ might have left something?! If not for the two of you, we wouldn’t be in this mess! She wasn’t supposed to be this-- dangerous!” 

Zuko and Sokka sequester themselves behind a screen of stalagmites in the tunnel, right next to the entrance of the cave proper, and peer through the slim gaps in the rock. 

The owner of the first voice is unremarkable, dressed in nondescript peasant clothing, except for the strange positioning of her hands-- with fist closed and arm held in midair, it is almost as if she is holding an earthbending move.The second is a woman with stiff bearing and an eye patch. The third is a fidgeting man who keeps glancing at the far exit of the cavern-- the only other passage aside from the one Zuko and Sokka have used to enter. 

Toph can be seen bound hand and foot and struggling in the corner. Despite her threats, her movements look concerningly sluggish. The kidnappers have not even bothered to remove her from her element-- in fact, she is surrounded by it-- and this more than anything worries Zuko. But it’s too late to go back and get backup-- Toph could be gone by the time they return. 

“So what do we do?” says the woman with the eye patch, unknowingly echoing Zuko’s thoughts. 

“Well, we have no choice but to go through with it!” explodes the first woman. 

“But how are we gonna get her to the extraction point?” hisses the second woman.

“We’ll have to knock her out. Come on. We have to hurry.”

Only three. They could take that many. 

Sokka silently holds up three fingers to Zuko, and Zuko nods. 

On the count of three, they rush around the corner.

The kidnappers recover from their surprise quickly. As Sokka goes in for a swing at the man, he blocks with his own blade, and the clang of metal on metal rings out. Zuko goes for the woman with the eye patch with a knife-like blade of fire, one of his only options in the tight space, and gets a reckless fire whip that forces him to retreat. He slams his shoulder on one of the protruding rocks in the unfamiliar walls. 

The third kidnapper, the first woman, has backed quickly deeper into the cave, holding her odd stance.

Another whip forces Zuko to roll to the side as the blaze singes the rocks. He looks for an opening to get closer so that he can use his firebending without worrying about injuring Sokka or Toph, but at this moment he finds that he has lost control of his limbs. 

His body has gone suddenly weak. With each passing fraction of a second, more and more energy seems to leach out of him, a horrifyingly intimate sensation. He stumbles, seeing the firebender back up and turn her attention to Sokka instead through fuzzy vision. It’s as if someone were plucking vital organs out without breaking the skin. He falls to his knees.

“Zuko!” he hears Sokka shout as if through water.

As he sways, he spots the third kidnapper staring intensely at him. Her right arm is still outwards and her hand closed in a fist, but the other now holds the same position. The woman’s fist is closed so tightly that her knuckles are white and trembling, and a sheen of sweat is on her forehead. A dagger lies unused at her side.

Zuko takes in a breath and regains a little strength. He finds that he can lift his arm, and aims the familiar movements at the woman staring at him. He waits for the rush of emotion and power to flood through him as he looses a blast of firebending that, though clumsy, should be more than enough to incapacitate an enemy who apparently doesn’t have the inclination to move. 

But nothing happens. He feels nothing. No fire appears. 

Shakily Zuko attempts it again, to no avail, and then grasps weakly to draw his swords, but his hands cannot handle even the slight weight of them. He manages to push himself halfway up along the rock wall. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sokka’s sword clatter to the floor.

Sokka lifts his hands, expression grim as the man levels his sword at his chest, the second woman with her firebending stance similarly oriented.

“So?” the firebender addresses the first woman, still as a statue in the back of the cave.

She nods once, jerkily. “Kill ‘em.”

This sends a jolt of adrenaline though Zuko’s uncooperative limbs, and he pushes himself off the wall towards Sokka, at both fire and swordpoint, but he’s too slow, the sword is rising--

A pink blur in one smooth movement flies into the cave and strikes the swordsman’s arm. He doubles. Another blow to his midsection, quick as a viper, and he collapses. 

But Sokka has still dropped. Zuko staggers his way over and half falls, half kneels as Ty Lee flips out of the way of the firebender’s downwards fire arc.

“You okay?”

Sokka winces, his hand pressed over his left side. “I think so--” He lifts his hand and his face seems to slacken; they both see the blood coating his palm. 

After one hit, her arm now dangling bonelessly, the firebender takes a jab to each leg and stumbles, lopsided, into the wall. 

“We need to get you out of here--” Zuko lifts Sokka to his feet clumsily, limbs still feeling somewhat limp. 

“But we can’t just leave--”

Ty Lee rushes past them on her way to the first woman, who is backing up warily. She strikes her middle and both arms, and her left fist opens as she grunts. 

Zuko at once feels some warmth rushing back through him and takes in a sharp breath as if surfacing from underwater.

Ty Lee pulls back-- but the woman has not toppled. She deals her a sharp shove. Ty Lee flies back with a squeak and hits the wall hard. The woman swiftly draws her dagger with her left hand. She looms over her.

A yell of pain rings out. The woman’s arm dribbles blood, and she hunches over it. Her dagger clatters to the ground. Another knife, this one small with a dark handle, is embedded in her arm. Ty Lee kicks her, and the woman crashes back against a rock and sinks to the ground, groaning.

“The others are coming,” says Mai as she and Ty Lee cut Toph’s bonds swiftly. But Toph can only lean against the wall as if it’s the only stable point she knows. 

“Did they hurt you?” says Ty Lee in concern.

“No, I just-- I can’t bend!” Toph’s eyes are wide, her voice hoarse from yelling. 

Mai and Ty Lee share a panicked glance. Shouts come from the way they had entered, and the sound of running feet can be heard.

Druk flutters onto Zuko’s shoulder, and Zuko starts. When had he returned? 

The footsteps finally reach them, and the other three searchers swarm into the cavern. The kidnappers are quickly manhandled into a corner and assigned a watch as one of the jugglers runs back for some rope. 

“What happened?” Mai asks.

“They grabbed me and dragged me into the forest,” mumbles Toph. 

The nervous man has his eyes tightly closed. The woman with the eyepatch glares around defiantly at each of them in turn. The wounded woman, right hand still clenched in a fist, scowls at the floor.

Head slowly but steadily clearing, Zuko looks around, trying to make sense of the situation. Everything seems to be under control. 

Instantaneously, the lantern light flashes on metal, and Mai pins the wounded woman’s upper sleeves to the floor with swiftly thrown knives. But she wasn’t going for any of the performers. 

Her lower arms still free, she snarls and completes her short lunge towards her chi-blocked companions with a hidden second dagger, tearing Mai’s knife from earlier out of her wounded arm as she goes. She sinks the dagger into the man’s chest as he chokes, his eyes bulging in mortal terror; with her other hand, she plunges Mai’s knife into the chest of the jerking second woman. This done, she pulls the dagger towards her own throat.

Mai flings another knife a millisecond too late.

Her body slumps over, her sleeve at the wrist pinned to the stalagmite behind her. She makes a gurgling sound as the knife falls out of her hand, both of her fists now unclenched. Zuko closes his eyes briefly at the sight and hears the drips staining the stone bright crimson. 

The entire cave quiets in stunned silence. 

Mai retrieves her knives and wipes them off on her sleeve.

Toph finally pushes off the wall and takes in a deep breath. “Well, that was in the running for the worst day of my life.”

“Can you-- bend?” Ty Lee takes her arm solicitously. 

Toph shoos her away. “Yeah.” She stomps once, and a mound of earth closes over the three bodies. “I don’t know what they did to me.”

“How did you find us?” Zuko asks Ty Lee as one of the waterbenders extracts a bubble of water from a flask to clean Sokka’s wound.

“I found Druk alone in the forest. It seemed like he wanted me to follow him, so I did.”

Zuko looks at the dragon on his shoulder, who chirps as if proud of himself. 

Sokka takes the bandages handed to him and looks down at himself dubiously. The wound is not deep, but it is bleeding profusely. 

Zuko presses as gently as he can as they work together to wrap the bandage around Sokka’s side. He tries not to feel too embarrassed as they brush against each other.

They make their way out of the tunnel, Zuko supporting Sokka. The rain has stopped and dusk has fallen, leaving an invisible sheen of wetness on everything they brush past. The fresh scent and warm air are somewhat of a comfort after their ordeal.

Until the rain scent mixes with smoke.

When they hurry into the clearing, they are met by a raging blaze. Most of the clearing is on fire. Several tents have already collapsed. They back up slightly and double over to avoid the smoke. 

“Hey!” The contortionist, who stayed behind when they began the search for Toph, approaches them from the forest side of the clearing, guiding the four dog-oxen with difficulty, their leads all bunched in her fist. Behind her, the juggler, sans the rope she was sent to get, attempts to quiet an agitated ostrich-horse. “I don’t know what happened,” she shouts desperately, her face streaked with sweat and soot. “We turned around and one of the tents was already on fire. We need to get to the stream-- Maka ran to the town, but--”

The big top collapses with a crackle in the background, blowing a gust of scorching air over them.

In the end, by the time all of the waterbenders and enough people and vessels for carrying water are gathered, they manage to save only one of the outlying smaller tents. Two of the ostrich horses have run off, leaving only one remaining. By now all the performers who were in town have returned except for Tomoe. 

“This is all my fault,” says the contortionist numbly, sitting on a tree stump. “I was here, I should have--”

“It wasn’t you,” says Mai, arms folded. 

A figure appears on the road.

They all watch silently as Tomoe approaches. 

“I was in the middle of negotiating with a dance troupe,” she says hoarsely, “when I saw the smoke.” Her gaze sweeps over the charred remains of her livelihood. 

Sokka explains the situation to her, with additions from the others. 

“What I don’t understand,” says Tomoe quietly, “is why.” She slumps a little, and the contortionist jumps to offer her the tree stump.

“I heard what they were saying,” says Toph. “They were Northern Fire Nation soldiers, I think. They were working their way south across the Earth Kingdom, and they wanted to use me for something, enough that they didn’t want to kill me. When they grabbed me…” She trails off, expression turbulent. “I couldn’t use my bending. I don’t know how.” She scuffs her foot against the ground, needing reassurance, and a pillar of earth forms and falls. “But I’m sure it was them. Because they kept arguing about whether they could keep me under control long enough to drop me off at the ‘extraction point.’”

“I couldn’t bend either,” Zuko speaks up. “When we were fighting them in the cave, I felt weak.”

“Come to think of it, I know I hit her chi points-- the woman who-- you know.” Ty Lee looks down. “But it didn’t seem to affect her at all.”

“Maybe it was some kind of airborne toxin?” suggests Sokka. “Some kind of drug that affected you guys?”

“But why weren’t you affected?” Zuko asks. “Or Mai, or the others?”

Sokka shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know.” He looks to Toph now. “Did you hear them talk about kidnapping anybody else?”

“Not specifically. But the way they said the other times were easier-- there were definitely other victims.” Toph tosses a rock into the air, catches it, and then vaults it into the blackness of the night.

They return to examine the dead. They carry no identifying marks or objects, and no clue as to what their plans were. They’ve left a few bags behind in the cave, which they bring back to what’s left of their campground in hopes that there might be something to replace what they lost. There is some money, but not much, and little else of value but the usual traveling supplies and a number of trinkets and nicknacks. They couldn’t have been in the cave for more than a few days. But they can find nothing to indicate which direction they came from.

Dawn breaks on the circus finishing the work of salvaging what they can from the wreckage.

Amidst this, Tomoe walks over to Zuko and Sokka and hands a small palmful of coins to each of them.

“What’s this?” says Sokka.

“Your last wages.” She smiles sadly. “The three of you were a big help. If this hadn’t happened, well… we would have been doing much better. But as things stand… I don’t think we’ll be able to accompany you to the coast.”

“Keep it.” Zuko shoves it back towards her. “In fact--” He starts digging in his pockets for his own money. 

“No, no.” Tomoe sighs, pushing his hands back. “Fair is fair.” 

“How about you give us something else?” suggests Sokka. “Like-- one of those guys’ bags, or something. I’m sure what they had is worth _something.”_

“If you insist.” Tomoe laughs slightly. “We certainly don’t want them.”

“What are you going to do now?” says Zuko.

“Now?” She turns to look out over the disaster of a field, the entire circus sifting through it in the pale dawn light. “We’ll try to rebuild. I have some contacts that might be able to help us. But if not… It’s hard to tell.”

They say their goodbyes. 

“I guess the outside world did catch up with us,” says Ty Lee in a small voice. She gives Zuko a trembly smile. 

“The worst part,” murmurs Toph, her arms folded, “is I’m not even surprised.”

“I hope you find your sister,” says Mai. “And the Avatar or whatever.”

“Thanks.” Sokka slings the pilfered bag over his shoulder. “Well, I guess this is goodbye.”

Toph gives them a punch on the arm each; Mai, a nod. Ty Lee gives them bear hugs, including Druk.

They take the road east, passing by the forest, and soon have left the circus behind.

They count their funds after replacing their bedrolls, food, and other supplies at the next town. 

“I don’t know if we’re even going to have enough to buy passage up the river at this rate,” says Sokka, discouraged. 

Zuko opens up the bag of trinkets they were given. “Maybe we can sell some of this.”

They dump it out on the grass. A carved wooden cat-owl, a pair of cracked spectacles, a small tin with nothing in it, some dull metal rings… 

Zuko looks up to find Sokka staring at one object in his hands. “What’s that?”

Sokka’s face is contorted in sudden pain, and he looks like he might be sick. 

“Sokka?”

Sokka clenches it tightly in his fingers. It’s a necklace, with a string of leather and five large, triangular teeth as beads. Each has a circle, crescent, or rough oval carved into it-- the phases of the moon. 

Sokka moves his lips, but no sound comes out. He tries again. “This is Katara’s,” he falters.


	6. Ka Lan Do

“This is hers, I know it’s hers--” Sokka rises to his feet quickly. “I have to-- They--”

“Wait, hold on.” Zuko stands himself. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Sokka moans. “It’s the exact configuration of moon phases, and the mark from when I-- I accidentally kicked it too close to the fire and burned it, here-- see?” He pushes it in Zuko’s face, and Zuko catches a glimpse of a dark smear on the leftmost tooth before Sokka turns away, necklace swinging from his clenched fist. “They took her,” he says numbly. “I knew it-- I knew something bad happened, and now…” He squeezes his face between his palms. “Think-- okay, I-- I know that…” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Toph said that they were making their way south across the Earth Kingdom. But where did they come from?”

He turns and seizes the bag of trinkets, digging through it, and Zuko watches him uselessly. 

“Could any of these be traced to a specific spot?” Sokka mutters, squeezing the carved cat-owl tightly. 

Zuko looks anew at the meager collection of objects, and feels his stomach drop at the realization that these, too, were probably taken from victims. But the rings and tin are plain, and the spectacles unremarkable. “I don’t think so. There must be thousands of things just like these.”

“Great. Just great,” mutters Sokka. He looks back in the direction they’ve come. “Maybe I can pick from the roads leading down to that forest, and choose the one that goes north?”

“But we couldn’t figure out which direction they came from. We don’t know if they came straight south.”

“Could you stop shooting down all my plans, Zuko?” 

“I’m just trying to figure it out!”

Sokka stands again, looks back the way they’d come, in the direction they were going, and then all around them. He sits back down and scrubs his face with his hands. 

Zuko kneels down next to him and searches wildly for something to comfort him. “They… they probably didn’t hurt her! Toph said they wanted her alive for something. If they took Katara, they probably want her alive too.”

“But for what?”

Zuko doesn’t have an answer.

Sokka lifts his head with a sigh. “Katara can usually take pretty good care of herself. But if she ran into those guys-- if she couldn’t _bend_ …” He shakes his head and looks at Zuko. “If this is an organized conspiracy-- am I ever going to find her?”

A beat too late, Zuko hurriedly stutters, “Yeah. Look, you’ve come this far. Maybe it’s... a really bad situation, but, um…”

“You think?”

“You came all this way just thinking that she _might_ be in trouble.” Zuko puts a hand on his shoulder hesitantly. “With that kind of determination, I think you’ve got a good chance.”

Sokka takes in and lets out a slow, deep breath. “Thanks.”

Zuko nods.

“I need some time. To think about this.”

They go no further that day, instead setting up their camp in a nearby copse of trees. They both lie unnaturally quiet once the sun sets. There is little sound but Druk’s nighttime snorts and whiffles and the breeze through the trees. 

Zuko wakes to find himself surprised that he fell asleep at all. Night is still thick around him. He blinks groggily, wondering what had woken him, and spots Druk’s small form slithering off through the grass to his right, his scales glinting in the cold light of the full moon. 

Zuko follows him out of the copse, back into the open meadow, and is unsurprised to find Sokka sitting there, Druk in his lap and necklace in hand.

Zuko stands there for a moment, wavering on whether he should say something or  
go back to bed. But he finds himself blurting out, “You okay?”

Which is a ridiculous question, because the answer is obviously “no.”

The breeze ruffles the tall grasses. Sokka looks back at him and shrugs.

“Can I-- should I, uh…” Zuko points limply back at their camp. “Do you…” Does he want to be left alone? Does he want company? If he doesn’t answer, would it be irresponsible of Zuko to leave him alone? Would Zuko’s words of comfort even help? “...Do you want to be alone?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can stay if you want,” Sokka says quietly.

Zuko settles next to Sokka cross-legged in the grass.

Sokka is frowning up at the moon, and Zuko follows his lead quietly, still chewing over his options in his mind and stealing glances at him, when Sokka breaks the silence himself.

“Have you ever been in a situation like this?” 

Zuko looks at him in surprise.

But Sokka is still staring steadily at the moon, his voice low and even. “You said you followed your uncle to the Southern Fire Nation. He almost died in a battle a few years ago, right? Is that one of the reasons you left? You were worried about him?”

Zuko’s chest turns cold and hollow. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds longer than normal, keeping his eyes fixed on the moon, counting the craters. 

Sokka looks at him. “Zuko? I mean-- you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

No, Zuko can’t-- he can’t let Sokka think this is something they have in common, dole out his sorely needed reassurance that this will be okay as if Zuko has been through it all himself. But what Zuko stands to lose-- the past few months have been-- the company, it’s been nice. A second chance, almost, where no one knows who he is or what he’s done. 

But what would be the point if it’s founded on lies?

Zuko looks down at the ground and begins counting blades of grass instead. “No,” he grinds out. “It… it was my fault. What happened in the battle was my fault.” 

“What do you mean?” Sokka’s tone is cautious, but without judgement.

“When I did… the thing that my father thought was unforgivable-- I didn’t exactly run away.” Zuko dimly notices his hands clenching into fists against the soil. His heartbeat picks up with the weight of confession. “I ran to the Southern Fire Nation to bring my uncle back. I thought that-- returning someone my family thought was a traitor, for judgement-- would restore my honor.” He feels his face wrinkling into something half-pain, half-scowl, and glares off to his right at the empty field. “You can probably tell that didn’t work out.”

He swallows and gently touches Sokka’s arm, and is relieved that he lets him instead of throwing him off in disgust. “So no, I haven’t been in a situation like this. So I can’t tell you how to get through this. But I think…” He struggles. “You’re doing everything you can. And that has to be enough.”

“But what if it’s not?” The unhappy, pinched look has returned to his face. “What if I’m too late?”

Zuko meets Sokka’s eyes. He tries to hold his anxious gaze, to impart some of Zuko’s own determination, wretched but true, into Sokka. “Whether you are or not, you have to keep going. And I think-- I know you can. I know you can do it.” The cheesiness makes him look away.

Sokka bites his lip, eyes slipping elsewhere.

They sit quietly for some time.

As the sky begins to lighten into a pale, cloudless blue, Sokka stands up. 

“What are you going to do?” says Zuko, looking up at him.

“I don’t have anything I can use to track them. But we know they’ve been going after airbenders, and they also attacked Toph, an earthbender, and Katara-- so it seems like they’re going after benders in general. With a plan like that, I have no idea where their bases might be-- they could be anywhere in the world. The fastest way would be to go right to the source.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I’ll have to go to the Northern Fire Nation.”

“What?! How are you gonna do that?” Zuko jumps to his feet, stomach lurching.

“I’ll go to the edges of their territory, find where some of their soldiers are stationed, and slip into their ranks. If I’m smart and keep my head down, I can search until I find something I can use.”

“There’s _no way_ that would work!” 

“I have to do this, Zuko!” Sokka rounds on him, gesturing wildly. “My sister is out there somewhere, taken hostage, in danger, and I don’t have any _time!_ I have to do something, and this is my best shot!”

“The Northern Fire Nation isn’t like the South anymore! They’re not the same, culturally, linguistically-- they’d spot you in ten seconds flat! The South hasn’t even gotten many spies in and they’ve been trying to do it for a hundred years--”

“So?” 

“It would be a suicide mission!”

“If that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes!” Sokka marches back to the copse and begins roughly packing his supplies.

Zuko follows him. “But you don’t _have_ to.” 

“What are my options, then, Zuko?” Sokka throws his hands up. “You said it yourself-- even the South, with their entire military, has been trying to get people in for a century. They couldn’t do it. The Northern Fire Nation wants her for something, and I don’t know why-- she’s in danger right now. It would take ages to lobby any of the governments of the other nations to help, even if we could prove the kidnappings, and even then they might not want to break their neutrality. And the Southern Water Tribe--” His shoulders slump. “We could never attack the Northern Fire Nation directly and win. And we don’t do a lot of-- _espionage._ I’ve already seen some of what we’re up against. The most I can do is tell them what’s going on.” He yanks his pack closed. “If I go this way, at least I’ll have the element of surprise. I doubt they’d be expecting me. There’s no one else who could--”

It hits Zuko like a bolt of lightning. “The Avatar.”

“Zuko, no--”

“No, no-- the Avatar! The past Avatar!” Zuko feels a surge of excitement as he turns his epiphany over in his mind. 

Sokka blinks at his electrified expression as Zuko turns it on him. 

“If Katara was also taken by the Northern Fire Nation-- _The past Avatar sent a message to the airbenders about the kidnappings!_ He knows something! If we can find a spirit willing to let us talk to him--”

It dawns on Sokka in an instant, and he jerks forward, his eyes widening. “He might know where she is! Or who took her, or how to get her back--”

“And-- even if he can’t-- _he could tell us who the new Avatar is._ And they can help us find Katara, and all the others!” 

“If there _is_ a new Avatar,” says Sokka, but the lines are beginning to smooth from his face, the light in his eyes returning. 

“We just need to find a spirit who’s willing to talk to the past Avatar for us. If we can do that, we can save your sister _and_ end the Civil War.” Zuko feels almost feverish, limp with relief. “You _don’t_ have to go to the Northern Fire Nation.” Someone like Sokka doesn’t belong there, doesn’t deserve to be relegated there-- and Zuko hopes he never is.

There are no spirits, unfortunately, known in this town or anywhere near it by the residents. By combining their shamefully scanty knowledge-- they come up with “nature-y things” as a likely location for spirit presence, all of which are from their home countries and not helpful at all for the eastern Earth Kingdom-- they determine that a reasonable next step would be to reach nearby Chameleon Bay, where, as a nature-y spot, there might be spirits, and where, even if there weren’t, there would likely be someone in the metropolis of Chameleon City who could point them towards one.

They reach the city at half past noon and immediately make for the water, wending their way through bustling crowds, making wrong turns and trying to navigate by watching the direction of the seagulls. At last, sweaty and feet aching, they find themselves at the docks. 

From a glance, it is clear that they wouldn’t be able to find any spirit connected to the bay at this hour. The docks are bustling with shouts and birds’ cries and footsteps, the creaking of crates and the slapping of sails, people thumping down the docks and up the ganglanks, calling all the while. A riot of color, bright greens and rich browns and nauseating marigold, coats the scene from ships’ flags to lugged suitcases alike. 

“Look, over there!” Sokka points.

Facing the bay, there is a wooden booth set up with a modest line in front of its counter. A gray awning flaps in the wind, and the sign above it reads “TRAVEL INFORMATION.”

As they step up, Sokka blurts, putting his hands flat on the counter, “Do you know of a way to find spirits around here? Any that are connected to the bay, or anything else?”

The girl furrows her brow, the look in her eyes wary. “A way to find spirits?” She pulls a small stack of brochures from under the counter and flips through them. “I think we have a… meditation sanctuary, just outside the city limits. It’s on the other side of town.” 

“No, I mean we need to find _a_ spirit. Preferably a friendly one.” Sokka drums his fingers on the counter.

The girl pauses before settling her elbows on the counter and leaning in a little. She lowers her voice. “Are you, uh-- spirit hunters? You’re looking for the _Jewelled Rose?”_ Her eyes travel over them, settling on Druk on Zuko’s shoulders.

“What’s that?” Zuko says.

“It’s a ship that’s docked here, a showboat that carries passengers up the river. But it’s been having trouble getting enough passengers this time because people think it’s haunted by a spirit.”

“Is it?” says Sokka evenly, clenching the edge of the counter.

She tips her head from side to side as if to weigh the options. “Hard to say. I’ve never seen it.”

“Where can we find it?” asks Zuko.

The _Jewelled Rose_ is a large paddle steamer, and mostly unremarkable. It is pleasingly colored in whites and reds, in a state of good repair, and doesn’t look like the kind of ship to be haunted. But even if it isn’t, the reputation will probably make the tickets _cheap_ \-- and it will pass many places on its way up the Great River. Hopefully they will have better luck finding spirits there.

A man sits slumped at a table near the gangplank, but he visibly perks up once he sees them approaching him. “Gentlemen! Looking for a river experience of dazzling entertainment? Our premium cruise to the North Sea offers dances, performances of the plays _The Tale of Wu Yaohuan_ and _The Cosmos Sword,_ and musical acts every night!”

“Is this the boat that’s haunted?” calls Sokka.

The man’s practiced smile fades a little. “Those rumors are completely unsubstantiated. I can personally guarantee a haunting-free experience.”

At this moment, a splash interrupts them as a man hurls into the water from the deck of the ship, screaming. The man at the table runs to the edge of the dock, Zuko and Sokka following, and together they drag him, spluttering, out of the water.

“The spirit threw me over the fucking side!” he gasps, dripping from head to toe and chest heaving. “It fucking pushed me! I was just-- talking, and the hairy bitch fucking _pushed_ me!” He staggers to his feet and rounds on the table attendant, jabbing a finger into his chest. “This cruise is fucking haunted. I want my money back. You’re gonna regret this.” 

Once that situation has been diffused with the man storming away and the attendant staring down at the table, all of which Zuko and Sokka were present for, Zuko coughs awkwardly. “How much for two tickets?”

The man looks up at them, wide-eyed.

It ends up well within their budget.

The ship is emptier than it should be for its size. Once they locate their cabin-- spirit free-- they split up. Sokka goes off to watch the staff’s briefing on the ship’s itinerary and offerings, while Zuko wanders the empty corridors in search of anything interesting.

The cabins are cramped and uniform; the corridors clean, off white, and ordinary. He does encounter several more elaborate locations, including dining rooms, a small theater, and a ballroom, all festooned with shining gold lanterns and colorful curtains, but never does he find anything odd. He even chances to stand in what he estimates to be the spot the man from earlier was standing in when he fell over the side of the ship, but nothing happens-- no odd wind, no shove, no apparition. 

He leans on the railing, looking down over the side. Vague vertigo swirls around him as he inspects the water below, the side of the ship, and the railing itself. 

“Hey.”

He looks up to find a young woman also leaning on the railing to his right. She had been so quiet he hadn’t noticed her. 

She gives him a smile. “Didn’t feel like sitting in on the presentation, huh?”

“No.” Zuko stands up normally. “I’m just doing some exploring.”

The girl folds her arms casually on the railing. “I’ve been on this cruise three times. I can show you around if you want. I’m Jin.”

“Zuko.” He glances across the vacant deck. “Thanks, but I’m really just looking for other places where the spirit that’s supposedly haunting this place has been seen. Do you know anything about that?”

“Oh, yeah! She’s been seen in lots of places. Here, I can show you.”

They walk along the deck towards the stern of the ship. Zuko expects to let her go in front, to follow, but she slows until she is walking beside him, her hands clasped behind her back, a slight smile on her face. 

“So where are you from?” she says.

“The Southern Fire Nation.”

“Did you like it there?”

Zuko shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“I’m from a village called Man Tiku, in the northern Earth Kingdom.” She pauses a second, giving him all her attention, for what Zuko doesn’t know. “So are you doing research on spirits?”

“Sort of.”

She stops near the paddles at the back of the ship.

“Is this the spot?” says Zuko, looking around.

“Yeah. I saw her here earlier this morning.”

“What kind of spirit is she?”

“She looks like a woman in a long cloak, with _really_ long brown hair. She’s never done anything to me, but _sometimes _she’s been known to shove people.” She smiles nervously and sways a little closer to Zuko.__

__“When does she usually appear?”_ _

__“I’ve seen her at a bunch of times, in lots of different places.” She tilts her head bashfully, glancing up at him. “I have to go soon. But if you’d maybe like to get dinner tomorrow, when we stop by the mouth of the river, we can talk about it some more.” She sounds distinctly hopeful._ _

__“Sure.” Zuko is relieved to find her so… un-weirded out. Then again, he hasn’t told her about the Avatar thing._ _

__“Great! My cabin is on the port side, the third from the front of the ship.”_ _

__“Okay.”_ _

__She departs, turning to smile at him until she’s around the corner, and Zuko turns his attention to examining this area of the ship. He opens a door to find a small supply closet filled with mops and buckets. He examines the floor for any strange marks. He glances at the paddles over the railing to see a hooded figure perched on the narrow promontory guarding the starboard side of the wheel. They are staring straight at him._ _

__He yelps, stumbling backwards until he hits the wall. For a second they stare at each other._ _

__Zuko pushes himself up and rushes to the railing. “Are you the spirit?”_ _

__The figure ignores him and turns towards the water of the bay._ _

__“Wait! I need to talk to the Avatar!”_ _

__The figure turns back. The cloak is long and purple, and shadows their entire figure except for the auburn hair trailing out of the hood. It waves gently, falling right to the figure’s feet, and its volume spills over their entire front so that they might as well have been clothed entirely in hair._ _

__“You’re a spirit, right? You can talk to the Avatar, right? Lives are at stake. I need to talk to the past Avatar.” He grips the railing tightly._ _

__“I thought this ship was promising.” Her voice is soothingly smooth and low. “The paddle showboat, traveling half the world with its varied cast of characters-- the passion! The adventure! But so far all its passengers have disappointed me on both fronts.” She glides onto the deck proper, the wood creaking, and leans over him, eyes glinting from somewhere deep in the hood. “I am Ka Lan Do. And you-- you have managed a date and a quest both.” She tilts her head. “I admit I’m intrigued.”_ _

__“A date?” says Zuko in utter bafflement._ _

__“Yes, a date. You just made one.” Her tone is beginning to be disapproving._ _

__Zuko is silent, confused. Was that what…?_ _

__The spirit tsks. “That’s no way to handle things. But at least you’re better than that fool this morning who called women ‘females.’” She floats back towards the railing with a sigh. “Humans have killed real romance…”_ _

__Zuko fumbles for something to make her stay. “Wait! No! We can give you real romance, I swear!” That was the best he could come up with?_ _

__Ka Lan Do laughs, a full-bodied, rich sound. “Is that so?” But she does stop._ _

__“If you find real romance here by the time we leave, will you let me talk to the past Avatar?”_ _

__The spirit pauses, and a few seconds tick by as Zuko aches for the answer. Her face is completely obscured by the hood._ _

__“You have a deal.” The mirth is clear in her voice. “I’ll be watching. Impress me.” She takes a step off the deck and slips into the water with nary a ripple._ _


	7. Real Romance

“‘Real romance?’ What does that even mean?”

“I don’t _know.”_ Zuko lifts his head and slams it into the wall of their tiny cabin. “I should have tried to negotiate with her, ask her for something different she might want. But I just-- she came and went so fast!”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter-- we can figure this out.” Sokka starts pacing. “In fact, maybe this’ll be easier than we think. You have that date tomorrow.” 

“But what if it doesn’t work out?”

“Well, you like her, right?”

“I, uh-- I guess?” Zuko splutters. A red flush slowly rises up his face, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, she was nice. And pretty. She was… really willing to help me. Friendly.”

For some reason, this makes Sokka briefly consider throwing himself into the river on the mercy of the giant catfish, but he bravely powers on. “So what’s the problem?” 

“I… don’t date much.” Zuko clams up, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Okay, we can work with that. How much we talking here?”

The silence lengthens. Sokka opens his mouth to speak.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve never been on a date before!” Zuko explodes, causing Druk, napping on one of the cots, to raise his head curiously. “There! That’s how much.”

_“Really?”_

Zuko’s mouth presses into a thin, thin line. 

“But-- okay, that’s fine, this is fine.” Sokka sits down next to him on the cot to sling a companionable arm around his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “You just need some practice. By tomorrow night we’re gonna have it _totally_ covered. And luckily, we’ve also got me.”

Zuko slowly turns his head to look at him. “You?”

“Yeah! I know romance like a penguin-seal knows water.”

Zuko begins to smirk. 

“I’m very charming.”

“You couldn’t charm a pile of shit.”

“I am the _epitome_ of charm.” Sokka bats his eyelashes gaudily at him.

Zuko bursts out into sniggering, snorting laughter, making his shoulders shake under Sokka’s arm. Sokka grins at him, pleased.

Yeah. They’ll be fine.

A warm breeze slams the cabin door open with a clang, making them both jump. Sokka hurries to the door and looks both ways down the corridor, but no one is there. The door to the outside deck is visibly closed. He swings the door back and forth on its hinges experimentally before latching it securely, pushing his pack against the bottom for good measure.

Odd.

They have fourteen days until they reach the northernmost reaches of the Earth Kingdom, passing up the Great River, through Half-Moon and Egg Yolk Bays, and down the Northern River. Day One will start them off with Zuko’s date. If that goes well, with Sokka’s coaching, they will hopefully continue with other dates, increasing with extravagance until they’ve satisfied Ka Lan Do’s wishes. If that doesn’t go well, Sokka will accept the burden of taking on some kind of romantic expedition himself. Matchmaking others should be saved as a last resort due to the unpredictability of not one but two other people. With those three options, Sokka feels sure they have this in the bag. 

Now if only he could get Zuko to loosen up.

They’ve gone over “You look nice,” the appropriateness of pushing Jin’s chair in, and the fact that Zuko should not surlily respond with “Nothing” when asked what he does for fun. Zuko has been turning steadily redder with each added element. Sokka doesn’t know why-- this is the low-stress version, after all.

“Okay, so after all that’s done, you’re in the home stretch. Assuming it all went well, you’ve gotta close out the date. This bit is absolutely crucial.” Sokka rises from his cot to stand next to the snitched crate they’ve been using as a table.

Zuko gives him a look of deep pain before following his lead.

“Don’t worry. It’s perfectly doable. All you gotta do is make sure she knows that you had fun, and ask to see her again. Like this.” Sokka clears his throat. He sways a little closer to Zuko, clasping his hands behind his back, and gives him a warm, flirtatious smile, looking him right in the eyes. 

Zuko’s eyes are wide. He looks absolutely ensnared.

“I had a really great time tonight. Any chance I could see you again?”

A few seconds go by. And a few more.

Sokka raises an eyebrow at him, and Zuko jerks into action. 

“So-- I just-- I just say that? A-And uh--” At this point Zuko chokes on his own spit and spends a full minute hacking up a lung.

Sokka pounds him on the back. “Get it all out, buddy. Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine.”

Zuko wheezes something that sounds like “Gah-- fuck--”

“Oh yeah, and there’s one last bit that might go down.”

Zuko straightens up slowly, Sokka’s hand slipping from his back. “What?”

“There might be a hug. Or a smooch.”

Zuko shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. “Don’t… don’t call it a smooch.”

“A smackeroo then, if you will.”

“If I ever willed that I would have to kill myself.”

“You just need some practice. Everything is gonna go according to plan. You and Jin are gonna be happy, and so is Ka Lan Do, and after this is all over the two of you are gonna live happily ever after etcetera etcetera.” Sokka flaps his hand nonchalantly. “Seriously, once you’ve done it once, you’ll feel a lot better. And Ka Lan Do won’t have anything to complain about.”

Zuko squints at him. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! It’s by the book in every way possible. We haven’t left anything out. There’s no way a true romantic could resist it.”

Sokka feels quite confident on this front, seeing as he’s apparently become a virtuoso in the art of romance. Otherwise, why would this whole exchange have felt so natural, so real? Sokka is able to summon up the butterflies, the warmth, the affection at the _drop of a hat_ just to perform a practice date to help Zuko get a girlfriend. _That’s_ how good he is. 

Zuko nods once, staring at the floor. “Okay. Are we uh… practicing that or…?”

“What?”

“Uh, you know.” Zuko coughs. “Uh, the kiss.”

They meet each other’s eyes.

“Psh, no, no, of course not--” Sokka squeaks, face warm.

“Obviously! I didn’t think--”

“Yeah, yeah, no, we don’t--”

“We’re not doing. That.”

“You were just making sure!”

“Yeah, I was, I was just, um… Yeah.”

A beat of silence falls, and Sokka breaks it by snatching up the borrowed crate, wincing as it scrapes against the floor. “I’m gonna go put this back.”

He realizes his heart is hammering once the door closes behind him. 

Zuko and Jin are tucked cozily into the far corner of the tea shop. Jin is talking and smiling, and across from her Zuko is listening, nodding every so often and visibly making an effort to relax his resting frown every few moments. And Sokka is here a few tables over like the good wingman he is, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea. Hopefully he hid the pieces of meat well enough around their cabin to keep Druk occupied. The chair is uncomfortable, and he keeps finding these horrifyingly long reddish-brown hairs on the table and the seat. But hey, at least everything is going according to plan. 

He feels someone step up next to him and looks up.

This person is disheveled in a way that looks like it might be purposeful, with tunic and trousers artfully rumpled and long brown hair loose but carefully arranged over their shoulders. “Excuse me. The waiter said you’re traveling on the _Jewelled Rose.”_

“Yeah.” Sokka straightens.

“Is there really a spirit on that ship?”

Sokka weighs his options. This person would have no way to know about their deal with Ka Lan Do. But then, last night, when the door to their cabin blew open-- had someone been listening? There’s no way to know where they might run into enemies.

Sokka shrugs. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell for sure.”

The person hovers near the chair across from Sokka. “Could I ask you about what you’ve seen? I’m looking to contact a spirit.” They flash a friendly smile. “I’m Li Min.”

“I’m Sokka. I really don’t have that much that I’ve seen--”

“But you have seen something?”

“Just some doors slamming, things falling, stuff like that.” He’s supposed to be focusing on Zuko and Jin. Yet this person’s visual gender ambiguity causes Sokka to suspect that something in their brains vibrates at the same frequency, and he wants to help...

“Do you know anyone who’s seen a spirit there?”

At this moment, chairs scrape as Zuko and Jin both stand up. Zuko glances at Sokka, looking vaguely mortified, as the two of them stroll towards the door.

Sokka stands himself reluctantly, finding himself dwarfed by Li Min’s immense height. “Not really. You could ask around. Look, I’ve really gotta go, but I hope you find your spirit.”

He starts wending his way between the tables, but they are still talking. 

“Wait, if you could just tell me-- where the ship is docked? Or what it looks like?”

Sokka glances back to find them following even as he opens the door and steps out onto the steps that lead up to the entrance. The door swings closed behind them.

“It’s uh-- it’s a white and red paddle steamer-- it’s next to the--”

Sokka is suddenly hit with an unnaturally forceful gust of wind, hot as if from a recently opened oven, that buffets against him, whipping his clothes and throwing him back. This would have been fine, except that the unfamiliar steps betray him, and even as he slips he’s pummeled by a great weight. The next thing he knows he’s stuck in a pile of bodies, elbow throbbing and head whirling. The healing wound in his side where Toph’s kidnapper sliced him aches sharply. A wooden cart they knocked into goes flying down the street, and a faint crash reaches their ears.

“MY CABBAGES!” someone wails distantly. 

Sokka slowly pushes himself up. “Zuko?”

Zuko grunts in response as he struggles upwards.

Jin sits up. “Are you all right?” She peers at Zuko in concern. 

Zuko nods.

Jin’s eyes slip over to a small, well-loved book lying in the street next to them. “Oh, this is a great book!” she gasps.

Zuko and Sokka stand up gingerly as Jin picks up the book. 

Li Min is kneeling next to her, having also fallen. They gently accept the book from her and look her over with curiosity. “It’s pretty much my favorite book of all time. Not that I’ve had the chance to read that many.” They laugh self-consciously. 

“Mine too! Have you read the sequels?”

“There’s _sequels?”_

“How crazy it is that I ran into you here, Zuko!” says Sokka loudly. “I would never have expected to find you here!”

He glances at Jin to find her deep in conversation with Li Min, both of them still on the ground. He leans in close to Zuko to whisper, “How’s it going?”

“Good,” whispers Zuko back. “I think. What was that?”

“The wind made me slip. Sorry.”

After a minute or two and some introductions, Jin and Zuko depart. Jin smiles and waves as they go. 

Well, that’s that. Now that they’ve all been properly introduced, there’s no use tailing Zuko. Sokka’s cover’s been blown.

Li Min looks back at Sokka. “So where is the ship again?”

Li Min books passage on the _Jewelled Rose_ easily, and Sokka finds that they commonly seek him out when Zuko and Jin go off on their dates. Sokka has a gut feeling that they’re not an enemy.

Li Min had a rough upbringing, reportedly, and is looking to see more of the world away from their family. They find spirits fascinating. They adore roasted frog-fish. They’re glad the ship is on a river because they get seasick. They speak little about their gender, and Sokka doesn’t ask for anything more.

Jin shares many of these opinions and more, as Sokka learns when she and Zuko take to spending time in the ship’s common areas. Curiously, the gust of wind at the tea shop does not appear to be an isolated phenomenon, because Zuko and Jin complain of it whenever they go ashore no matter where they are. 

It must be Ka Lan Do. She’s trying to make it harder for them.

They have to step up their game.

This is what Sokka is thinking as the four of them sit in the ship’s lounge a few days after a mysterious windstorm forced the museum containing the massive preserved head of the serpent of Full-Moon Bay to close. The ship is moving on tonight, and the stars are bright overhead as it floats slowly up the river. 

Jin and Zuko share a couch, sitting close but not touching, and Sokka chooses a lull in the conversation to force himself to stand up and yawn obviously. 

“Well, I’m going to head to bed. See you two lovebirds tomorrow. You coming, Li Min?” The smile he’s wearing feels like it might look like a grimace.

“No, I think I’ll stay up a little longer.” Then Li Min’s eyes light up, and they murmur to Jin with a grin, “‘I drink the milk of lovebirds.’”

They both break out into uncontrollable giggles. Jin hunches forward, covering her mouth with one hand as her shoulders shake.

Sokka stares at the two of them blankly, and then looks at Zuko for some kind of explanation.

Zuko shrugs helplessly. He looks at Jin, and appearing to find some kind of relief, stands. “I think I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t want to stay up any longer?” Sokka tries to tell him through his gaze that this is a golden opportunity. “Uh… who’s going to keep Jin company?”

“It’s okay.” Jin finally lifts her head, an easy grin on her face. “Li Min’s here. They’ll keep me company.”

She and Li Min meet each other’s eyes and subside into giggles again. 

Sokka narrows his eyes in confusion. 

He keeps quiet as Zuko walks beside him until he can be sure they’ve left the others’ hearing.

“Why didn’t you st--” A gust of warm wind knocks him sideways, and he staggers into Zuko. 

Zuko catches him, one hand on his shoulder and one on his waist. He blinks at Sokka as they stand frozen for a moment in each other’s space. “You okay?”

Sokka rips himself away and straightens out his tunic. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just-- why didn’t you stay with Jin?”

Zuko’s eyes slide to the floor as they continue walking. “Oh. We, uh... “ He shrugs. “We decided we were going to stop going out this morning.”

Sokka stops. “ _What?_ But we did everything right! The dates, the flowers, the candles-- we practiced-- you were perfect!”

Zuko stops too, looking away at the water sliding past beneath them. “Was it, though? Maybe it looked perfect, but it didn’t feel right. Maybe it doesn’t matter what it looked like.”

Sokka is silent, struggling to sort through his emotions. Confusion, anxiety, and-- relief?  
That doesn’t sound right. 

“We don’t have that much in common, I think. It was always sort of awkward when we were on dates. I like her, and I think she likes me, but-- well, we talked, and we don’t think it will go anywhere.”

Zuko looks at Sokka again, his voice rising a little with passion and earnestness. “The whole time maybe it looked right, but it didn’t feel right-- and I don’t think that’s ‘real romance’ or whatever. It shouldn’t matter how much other people like the way it looks. It’s what the people involved feel and do for each other that counts.” He lowers his eyes. “Or at least that’s what it should be.”

“Oh,” says Sokka uselessly.

They stand in silence for a moment.

“I guess I gotta find a date, then,” says Sokka. He leans his arms against the railing.

Zuko joins him. “Don’t bother. We’re almost there.”

“But we’ll lose the deal.”

“There’s other spirits.” Zuko frowns at the dark water. “We can find another one. When we stop, we’ll be near the Northern Air Temple. Maybe they can help us.”

They are near the Northern Sea. The air is beginning to feel comfortably, familiarly cool again. Sokka is commenting on this to Zuko when the door to their cabin is blown wide open in a warm gust.

In the doorway stands a figure cloaked in cloth and hair. 

“Fuck!” Zuko glares at her. “So it _was_ you!”

“Couldn’t you knock?” grumbles Sokka.

She glides inside. “I told you I would be watching.” She sounds gleeful.

“We already know we failed.” Sokka keeps a tight hold on Druk as he attempts to squirm towards the spirit. 

The glint of a smile is visible under the hood. The hair seems to slowly inch over the floor like tentacles. “You haven’t failed. You have shown me real romance.”

Sokka and Zuko share a confused glance.

“But we gave up,” says Zuko.

“When would you like your favor?”

“Seriously?” Sokka almost lets Druk wriggle away in his surprise.

“Seriously. I can take you to the spirit world. You may not find the past Avatar immediately, but I will let you stay until you do.”

They feel the ship slow and stop. Water sloshes audibly against the sides. They have arrived at the end of the line.


	8. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko get sidetracked from entering the spirit world.

Ka Lan Do gives them one day and one day only to take her up on her offer. Sokka and Zuko immediately set off to look for a fittingly unnoticeable place to stay while one of them leaves their body unmanned for however long it takes to find the past Avatar in the spirit world.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime,” says Sokka as they say goodbye to Jin and Li Min. 

“Maybe.” Li Min shrugs and grins crookedly. “And maybe not.”

Sokka, Zuko, and Druk cross the city, smoke-filled and greyish, and wander into the forests and fields surrounding it eastwards. They stop to ensure they are going the right direction (that is, farther away from civilization) in a small, windy, quiet place full of sturdy, squat houses. Ka Lan Do’s presence registers only as a warm breeze every now and then that clashes with the cold winds. 

“We get so many strange visitors these days,” sighs the chatty homeowner. “I don’t mean to offend you, of course, but it seems lots of folks we don’t usually see around here are coming through lately.” 

“Really,” says Sokka blandly as he backs up slowly, meaning to cut the conversation short by distance. 

“Oh, yes. We’ve had traveling performers, a lost opera actress from Ba Sing Se (now that was an exhausting one). Couple months back we had an unusually desperate cabbage merchant. And just recently, oh, last week, we had another Water Tribe and Fire Nation pair! A young woman and an older man.”

Sokka feels a horrible foreboding prickle run up his spine. He stops in his tracks. “Who was the young woman? What was her name?”

“Oh, you know her?” The woman taps her lips as she surveys Sokka up and down. “Name was, ah, what was it… something with a ‘K.’”

Sokka stares at her hard, more on edge with each hemming and hawing microsecond.

“Kara? Kita?... Katra?...” Her eyes widen, face smoothing in sudden remembrance. “Ah, Katara! That was her name. Nice girl. You know, you do look like her. Are you related?”

“Yes. You said she was with a man from the Fire Nation.” Sokka takes a few stumbling steps back towards her, hungry for the information. He feels Zuko’s concerned gaze on him.

“Mm, yes. A firebender. His name was… hmm… you know, I don’t think I ever caught it.”

“Where were they going?” 

“I don’t know. Though they did depart north.”

“Did she look like she was hurt?”

“Goodness, no.” The woman gives him another onceover, frowning. “She looked perfectly fine.”

“Come on,” Zuko murmurs, tugging on Sokka’s arm, and Sokka turns away reluctantly as they begin trudging up the path out of the village again.

Departing north… If he were the Northern Fire Nation, what would he do? Besides punch himself in the face, of course.

If the Northern Fire Nation wanted Katara for something dastardly, they would probably want a safe place to carry out their plans. Somewhere with little hope of escape or help. Toph’s would-be kidnappers had mentioned an extraction point. So the endpoint is likely to be the Northern Fire Nation itself.

Sokka speaks up once they reach the cover of the trees. A thick carpet of pine needles muffles their footsteps. 

“They couldn’t go west,” Sokka mutters, “there’s too many Earth Kingdom troops and the Western Air Temple... They couldn’t go east, because there’s the Northern Air Temple and Ba Sing Se’s waters. They could have gone back south, but if they were heading to the Northern Fire Nation, that would take them months.” He looks up to meet Zuko’s eyes. “Last week. She was here _last week.”_

“Maybe they…” Zuko begins. 

Branches snap and crash in the forest to their left. They stop. The sounds get closer. Sokka draws his sword as they peer fruitlessly into the trees. 

A cloaked figure leaps onto the path nimbly and springs into the trees to their right. Another figure stumbles along beside.

Zuko and Sokka just barely jump out of the way as three others dressed in black explode out of the trees. Sokka easily knocks aside a quick sword thrust and feels the heat of firebending at his back. A split second passes as he meets the person’s light eyes between the strips of black cloth hiding their face. 

And then the sword withdraws, and the three vanish into the trees in pursuit.

Sokka turns to find Zuko bent over and clutching his stomach.

“Shit--” Sokka rushes over.

“I’m fine,” says Zuko through clenched teeth. “Just-- it’s that feeling again. Like in the cave.”

It takes Sokka a moment to realize. “You couldn’t bend.”

Zuko nods grimly.

As one they take off into the trees, leaving their packs behind.

It’s easy to follow the din that one of their quarry is making. The undergrowth is thick here, and Sokka snags his clothes and scrapes his arms more times than he can count. The cold air burns in his lungs. Druk’s scarlet wings flicker in and out of sight around the pine trunks as he zips ahead of them.

A rushing, pouring sound grows louder. Sokka skids to a stop on a slippery boulder, pebbles crumbling into the water below. The trees come right up to the banks of the rapid-moving Dyo River. 

A battle is taking place to their left. One cloaked figure is furiously fending off the three black-clad pursuers with katana and fan as they are slowly forced further towards the bank. The other cloaked figure, perched behind the first and precariously close to the water, stands with heaving shoulders, hurling rocks at the assailants as they can find them.

Sokka whistles loudly. “HEY! Why don’t we make this a fair fight?”

A black-clad figure peels off from the others and nears them, one hand clenching into a fist as they go, and Sokka readies his sword.

“Ack. Fuck.” Zuko stumbles to his knees.

The person attacks fast and hard, one fist still clenched and hooked protectively against a metal groove in the hilt. Sokka uses an opening to step back into the trees, hoping they follow him instead of going for Zuko, currently sprawled out on the ground as if hideously hungover.

To his relief, they do. Sokka backs up quickly under low hanging branches, hindering his opponent’s ability to swing at him properly. Pine needles shower his attacker as they advance, allowing Sokka to step behind a thick tree trunk. 

His attacker moves right around the trunk. Sokka moves left. His attacker moves left. Sokka moves right. Left, right. Right, left.

With a hiss of frustration, his attacker finally charges wide around the trunk to catch him, leaving themself wide open for Sokka to slice off part of their mask.

Huh. So they get frustrated easily.

They tear off the mask, revealing a middle-aged woman with light eyes. Her gaze screams imminent murder.

Sokka backs towards the water, parrying as he goes. “Come on,” he drawls, blocking a swing that makes his arm ache sharply. “It’s like you’re not even trying.”

Her attacks increase in speed and frequency. 

Sokka has an epiphany and ups the smugness. “What, you mad ‘cause you can’t use your magic no-bending stuff on me?” He stumbles on a pebble and only just barely avoids a nasty slice to the shoulder. He can hear the river at his heel. 

“You little--” She presses her advantage of having the river to her left by swinging hard to Sokka’s left side, forcing him to block and slip closer to the water. 

“What is this, amateur hour?” Sokka pants, eyeing for an opening, some point at which she will put too much force into her swing--

She shrieks, sword losing momentum halfway through the swing, and Sokka glances down to see Zuko lying on the ground behind her propped up on his elbow. His slightly bloodied sword slips from his limp fingers.

Sokka takes the opportunity to shove her over the edge. She goes in with a splash and an enraged splutter, but the current carries her away behind a bend in three seconds flat. 

Downstream, one of the other attackers is flailing, screaming, and slightly smoking as Druk attempts to lever them off the ground with his teeth clamped in the back of their neck, wings flapping wildly. 

“You--”

“‘M fine,” mutters Zuko to the dirt.

Sokka takes off towards the scene just as Druk’s victim slips into the river. 

The last attacker is finally beaned in the head by one of the thrown rocks. Sokka speeds down the bank.

As the attacker staggers, the katana-wielder deals them a slice to the arm, which throws them off balance. Sokka reaches out preemptively. “Wait--!”

The attacker wheels and flails as if in slow motion. 

Sokka’s fist closes around thin air. 

They gargle river water twenty feet away. 

And they’re gone. They won’t be slowing down until they reach the coast.

He rounds on the cloaked duo. “You couldn’t have waited?”

“Excuse me?” the first figure lowers their hood, sounding incensed. They are a pale young woman with reddish-brown hair. She glares at him. “We were kind of under attack!”

“But I needed that-- oh, never mind.” He trots back upstream, feeling their eyes on his back. “You okay?” Druk lands on his shoulders as he bends over Zuko.

Zuko grunts, facedown, and lifts his head. “Yeah.” 

Sokka helps him up. The two others have approached them.

Sokka turns to them. “Why were those guys chasing you?”

The young woman eyes him suspiciously, gaze scanning him. “Who wants to know?”

Sokka introduces the three of them. 

At last the other person steps forward, lowering their hood to reveal long white hair in braids and loops and an incongruously young face.

Sokka almost chokes a little. He used to have _such_ a crush on her. His last diplomatic visit to the north with his family had been-- what, three years ago? Four? “Pri-- Queen Yue.”

“Sokka.” Her face brightens in recognition and obvious relief. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Zuko looks between them, scowling. “What’s going on?”

Yue’s face falls. “Chief Hahn is dead. His brother, Gonuk, has the throne, and he’s telling everyone I killed Hahn. We barely made it out, thanks to my head guard, Suki.” Yue motions to the young woman at her side. 

“What? You-- they think you would do that? Hahn is dead?” Well, maybe that last bit’s not so bad.

“We know Gonuk set the whole thing up. But without any proof, his faction is too dangerous for us to go back.” Suki folds her arms cooly. “We were traveling to the Southern Water Tribe hoping for their protection and help.”

“You can have it,” says Sokka immediately. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Once again, far from home, troopless, resourceless, he is utterly impotent-- but damn it if that’s going to stop him. It can’t. He will prove it can’t. 

“I’m so glad to hear that,” sighs Yue, small smile returning.

“Why did you ‘need’ one of the people who attacked us?” Suki looks him up and down, expression unreadable.

“Now _that_ is a long story.”

“We’ve got a little time. Condense it for me.”

“Maybe we should make tea,” says Zuko unexpectedly. 

They all look at him.

He shrugs, face reddening. “To… make the talk easier.”

They hike back to where they left their supplies. The tea does end up being a comfort. They settle on the thick layer of pine needles as Sokka wraps his fingers around his hot cup, steam rising to warm his face. 

Sokka and Zuko tell the whole tale of their travels, especially Katara’s going missing and their encounters with the Northern Fire Nation at the Southern Air Temple and the circus. 

In return, Yue and Suki explain the entire saga of their being attacked in and subsequently fleeing from the Northern Water Tribe: the lure to a tall cliff, the mysterious paralyzation of all three of Yue’s waterbender guards, Hahn’s death and Yue’s accusation, their narrow escape aboard a sympathetic fisherman’s craft, and their flight down the northern Earth Kingdom the past week with assassins at their heels. 

With each passing second Sokka becomes surer and surer that the Northern Water Tribe is where he needs to be, where Katara must surely be. If the Northern Fire Nation had infiltrated the government, safe passage through the country could guarantee them a safe trip back to the Fire Nation by leaving from the Northern Water Tribe’s western shore. 

“Gonuk isn’t the brightest,” Suki admits, swirling her tea absently. “He could probably be caught pretty easily. It’s just that no one suspects yet that he’s working with the Northern Fire Nation. We can’t prove it out here, and everyone up there is too scared.”

Sokka stands and begins to pace, clenching his empty cup. “If we catch this guy and the people he’s working with, we might be able to unravel a lot of what’s happened. Queen Yue, maybe you can’t go back to the Northern Water Tribe to prove he’s guilty.” He stops. “But I can.”

“Oh, Sokka-- would you really?” Yue's eyes shimmer with hope.

Before Sokka can let this go to his ego too much, Zuko speaks up.

“Wait. What about going to the spirit world?”

Sokka nearly stumbles over his next words. “You can do that here while I check out the Northern Water Tribe.” It makes the most sense. They have multiple leads to follow. Yet they’ve been in consistent close proximity for more than two months. How odd will it be to suddenly travel without Zuko, and even without Druk? “She came through that village a week ago. A week. I can’t afford to wait.”

Yue studies her tea cup politely; Suki watches them quietly.

“But…” Zuko stands up himself. 

Zuko is closer than ever to finding the Avatar, the one thing that has driven him to this faraway forest in the first place. Sokka won’t ask him to give that up. Both of them will be absolutely fine on their own.

“You want to face people like the ones who kidnapped Toph _alone?”_

Suki pointedly sets down her cup, breaking the tension. “Well, I can think of one source of backup he’ll have. I’ll go too. I can’t really let some random guy do my job for me.” The corner of her mouth quirks upward. “And now that we took care of the assassins, Yue, you should have a good chance of getting to the South.” 

As Suki and Yue go over the path they have planned out, Zuko catches Sokka’s sleeve grimly and pulls him aside several trees over. 

“There’s nothing I can say to stop you, is there?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe I should--” Zuko bites his lip. “I mean, there’s other spirits.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa-- did you forget what we did to get that deal? No way. Besides, we don’t know how long those kidnapped kids have. Anything could be happening to them.” 

Zuko screws up his face.

“We have to figure this out fast.” Sokka pauses. “I just-- I have to help her. I need to go. No matter how dangerous it is, I’ll figure it out.” He looks Zuko in the eye. “ _You don’t_ have to go. She’s my sister.”

Zuko thrusts Druk out towards him. “Then take Druk so you have some backup.”

“Buddy, you’re the one who needs backup. You’re gonna need him if you’re gonna be unconscious for however long.” 

Druk sinks his teeth into the front of Sokka’s tunic, forcing Sokka to take a step closer. 

Sokka gently pries his jaws apart, dreading what must follow. “Besides, if I can’t find her, I’ll need a backup plan. If there’s an Avatar still-- who knows, you know?” He meets Zuko’s eyes.

Zuko stares at him, eyes roving over every aspect of Sokka’s face as if he might find something there to change their situation. Finally he looks away. “Yeah, well-- Okay. Just…” He shrugs. “Don’t… die.”

“That’s the plan.” Sokka bounces on his heels and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You know, we might meet up again. When I find my sister, if we can bring the whole spying-kidnapping thing down…Sounds like that’s something the Avatar would want to be involved in. And you know where I live and all.” He claps his hands together once and winces as the sound cuts through the silence. “So, I guess it’s just… hey. You’ve been a good partner.” He shoves Zuko gently with his arm. “Friends, right?”

“Yeah.” Zuko doesn’t attempt a smile. “Friends.” He settles a hand on Sokka’s shoulder hesitantly.

Sokka looks at him inquiringly. Zuko eventually just squeezes it lightly and lets go, hand falling limply to his side. 

Sokka bends down to look Druk in the face. “Do us a favor: make sure nothing crazy happens while he’s asleep.” 

Druk licks his nose. 

Sokka scrubs his nose clean with the back of his hand as he stands, feeling strangely hollow. He finds Zuko watching him, frowning. Sokka knew that eventually their paths must diverge. After all, it was mere chance that led them to stick together for so long-- wasn’t it?

No, they are friends. A tie has been formed and Sokka underestimated how difficult it would be to untangle.

There is still no sign of the assassins, but all of them feel the dread hanging over them and agree that it is better to leave sooner than later. Yet Sokka keeps coming up with reasons to delay-- rearranging the contents of his pack, ensuring his sword is properly cared for in case of imminent scrapes, scratching Druk’s neck one last time and detaching him from around Sokka’s ankle… 

Eventually there is no avoiding it.

They leave.

 _Not really that much has changed,_ thinks Sokka as they pass along the edges of the trees, following but staying off of the path. Sokka glances at Suki, at her steadfast forward gaze and purposeful walk. He still has one (human) companion. He is still looking for Katara. 

But it feels as if a comfortable layer of him has been scraped off, leaving a painfully new self, vulnerable and cut loose, like slicing a nail down to the quick. He misses Zuko more than he misses Yue-- imagine, Zuko’s grumpy self over Yue’s years as Sokka’s biggest, most hopeless crush. Isn’t familiarity supposed to breed contempt?

Sokka hopes he’ll get used to it.


	9. The Traitor Chief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suki and Sokka attempt to unmask "Chief" Gonuk.

Sokka is not getting used to it. 

Suki is cordial but quiet. Once they have returned to the Northern River and hitched a ride to the Northern Sea aboard a fisherman’s craft, he ventures a question. “So what’s your story?” 

Anything to distract him-- although he has to admit, it is odd to find an Earth Kingdom woman as a guard to the normally insular Northern Water Tribe royal family. 

Suki pulls her gaze away from the banks floating by. “Well, I’m a guard whose charge has to flee all the way across the world.” Her shoulders slump. 

“I’m sure we can turn it around.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Suki agrees. “But I’d known the rest of Yue’s guards for years. They were my friends. And they didn’t make it.” She returns her gaze to the water. “There’s no fixing that.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gives him a sad smile. “I aged out of my island’s primary fighting force. The other girls and I all went our separate ways, and I had to find somewhere new. I ended up in the Northern Water Tribe. But now that’s all over again.” She takes a deep breath and raises an eyebrow at him. “How about you? Water Tribe, Southern Fire Nation, and dragon isn’t the most common trio.”

“We all just sort of ran into each other by accident in the Southern Water Tribe.”

“You guys seem like a great team.” She sounds wistful.

“Well, you know. We do our best.”

“By the way, I haven’t thanked you for coming to our aid before yet. Ulterior motives or not, you might have saved our lives.”

“All in a day’s work.” Sokka shrugs. 

Suki laughs quietly. “Will you meet up again?” There is that slight tremor of vulnerability again.

Sokka wants to say yes. But he doesn’t know.

The fisherman is only willing to take them halfway across the Northern Sea, where they have to buy his life raft from him to make the rest of the trip. Travel between the Northern Water Tribe and the mainland, he tells them, has been ordered cut off the past couple of weeks, and no one wants to test the Water Tribe while at sea. 

They near the shore and haul the life raft up onto a stray iceberg, peering around the ice to check out the gates. Pairs of guards are visible patrolling the main gate. Most of them face the inside.

“Why aren’t they looking this way?” Sokka whispers.

“They already know Yue is out of the Northern Water Tribe. They’re worried about anyone going out to help her.”

Sokka raises his eyes, scanning the hulking walls that rise high above the main gate, encircling the Northern Water Tribe’s capital like an egg in a dish. “No other entrances?”

“No.” Suki bites her nail in thought. Her eyes brighten. “Do you have any kind of projectile weapon?”

They paddle closer in the raft using the icebergs and outlying ridges of the land as cover and use a steep trail to climb to the top of the icy landscape. A couple of minutes’ hiking allows them to look down upon the city. They have enough rope to tie a loop, which they hook around a sturdy piece of ice jutting out, and still make it down. Directly below them are the outlying buildings of the city. Three moving figures below patrol the immediate area.

Sokka wiggles out over the edge, eyeballs the farthest guard, and throws his boomerang, praying it won’t be discovered. It hits the guard square in the head, dropping him like a stone, and flies off into a snow drift. As the other two guards nearby rush to his aid, they quickly slide down the rope as quietly as they can, Suki first, Sokka second. 

Sokka winces at each thud of his boots against the wall. By the time he reaches the bottom the friction has worn his mittens nearly straight through. They land heavily on the rooftop of an outlying building and quickly pull down the rope, throwing themselves flat against the rooftop.

“...maybe some kid throwing a piece of ice?” one guard is saying.

“I don’t see anything,” another answers. “Looks like he just fell and hit his head. I’ll get him some help. You stay here.”

It’s fairly easy for them to sneak past the one guard, retrieving Sokka’s precious boomerang on the way. They see few pedestrians, all of whom avoid looking at them; they see as many armed men, guards, who make a point of looking at everyone. Doors and shutters remain closed. Sokka has never seen the city this silent. 

They make their way as inconspicuously as they can towards the palace, where they’re forced to duck into a doorway to avoid the sight of five guards standing on the steps. 

“Does it have any secret entrances or anything?” Sokka whispers to Suki.

She shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak, but at that moment a commotion seizes their attention.

Two male guards come out of the main entrance hoisting a struggling teen aloft. 

Her hands and feet are bound, but she’s shouting fit to wake the dead. “WE’RE NOT GOING TO STOP-- YOU CAN’T SILENCE US ALL-- JUSTICE FOR WOMEN! JUSTICE FOR--”

One of the guards clamps his hand over her mouth and shouts as she bites him.

The front entrance guards stifle laughter. “Can’t even handle a little girl, guys?” one of them jeers.

“Oh, shut up,” the guard moans. “You’re the ones who let her get in. Step your game up.”

Sokka and Suki remain tensely concealed as the guards carry their screaming burden off down the street. _Katara would never hesitate if she were here,_ Sokka thinks. But what are they to do? To jump out now would be suicide.

“Sorry about the noise,” one of the guards calls cheerfully to two people, a man and a woman, standing in a doorway down the street. “Go about your business.”

The man nods silently. The woman stares at the street.

“What a little upstart,” a man’s voice mutters from the building right next to Sokka and Suki, startling them.

Sokka and Suki retreat farther back into the alley. Sokka catches a glance of Suki’s lip curling. They circle around to the side of the palace. The front entrance guards are too busy laughing to see them run past. 

They slip past one guard patrolling the western wall of the palace and scramble with difficulty up onto the roof using the carvings of fish along the sides as footholds. 

“He’d want the chief’s quarters,” whispers Suki shortly.

Sokka follows her with care as they slowly crawl, slipping and sliding, over the massive semi-domes of the roof, rising as they go. It’s a good thing the palace is higher than the rest of the city, or their scrabbling would be seen in an instant.

A hint of sound reaches their ears. They slow their pace, knees aching against the ice. A chimney hole sits on one side of the dome. They shuffle as close to it as they dare.

“...Well, I had to think of something,” a man is huffing.

Suki meets Sokka’s eyes and nods towards the voice meaningfully. Gonuk, then.

He continues. “I mean, you guys weren’t here, and what was I supposed to do, huh? I had to tell ‘em Yue did it. What if they staged a revolt?”

“She fled in _secret.”_ The second speaker sounds as if they are speaking through their teeth. The voice is familiar in a way Sokka can’t quite place. “No one would have been _revolting._ All you had to do was tell them she was dead and let us take care of it.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it, Arsai? You never tell me anything. You don’t even tell me what you want those waterbender kids for.” His voice tapers into a whine.

“No using names. And just keep a hold on this place. _No more_ decisions without running it by us.” The woman softens her voice, though a slight disdainful strain remains. “You can do that, can’t you? We chose you for a reason.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

Sokka leans forward carefully to try to get a peek inside. He catches a glimpse of Gonuk from above, chest puffed out and preening, and a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked hair and a stern face-- it hits him. She was the woman he fought by the river. 

“You’ve been burning all communications?” Arsai says. 

“Pshh. Of _course.”_

“Good. Wait for our orders.” She pauses and then says shortly, “You’ve been performing incredibly well. This nation is lucky to have you.” She leaves the room and is gone.

Sokka quashes the urge to follow her. It’s unlikely she would lead them to Katara. No, they have to take the whole thing down.

Gonuk stands in the middle of the room for a minute, seemingly lost in thought. Sokka hardly dares to breathe for fear of being heard in the silence.

Sokka glances around the room, trying to look for any other exits and entrances. Something moves in a corner. He nearly gasps.

Another figure sits quietly with knees drawn up in the corner behind a large chest. They are fairly small and dressed in typical Water Tribe blues except for the eyeless hood that covers their face. They are not visible from Gonuk’s position. They don’t appear to have seen Sokka and Suki gawking from the roof.

Their attention is diverted as Gonuk suddenly starts mumbling to himself. 

“I did the right thing. He was always holding out on me. He had all the money and girls he wanted. He should have shared. And not like he did that good a job being chief anyway. I’m already doing a much better job.” He glances at the doorway before swiftly pulling out a piece of well-worn paper from the inside of his tunic. 

“‘Stunning leadership skills and brilliant tactical mind,’” he mutters to himself with relief, flicking the paper. “Yeah… yeah, even the Northern Fire Nation sees it. ‘Unbridled charisma dwarfed only by wisdom far beyond your years…’ Yeah. They’re right. I’m right. I mean, name one thing I’m doing wrong.” He tucks the letter carefully back into his tunic and stares into space for a moment.

Then he aggressively nods to himself, deepening his voice. “Yeah, yeah! I did the right thing. I’m good. Fuck yeah. Mom and Dad don’t need to know.” He exits the room mumbling to himself.

In their little corner, the masked listener makes a swift motion and a hole opens in the ice below them. They slip through and are gone. 

Sokka sits up a little and is nearly surprised all over again to be looking at Suki and not at Zuko. It takes him a second to find his voice. “Who was that?” 

Suki stares back at him with wide eyes and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

Suki pulls him into someone’s shed to discuss their options.

They determine that attacking Gonuk in the palace is not the best angle. Too many guards are around, as they have seen in the case of the screaming protester. Besides, even if they did obtain evidence of Gonuk’s treachery, who’s to say that they would be believed?

Shouting from outside interrupts them.

They glance through the tiny freshwater-ice window to find a man floating down the nearest canal in a boat, calling “CHIEF GONUK IS GIVING A SPEECH. CENTRAL SQUARE AT ONE O’CLOCK.” He repeats this as he proceeds down the street. By the time he rounds the corner several people have poked their heads out curiously. 

“So he’s blessing the Water Tribe again with his unsolicited opinions,” Suki sighs. “Although actually-- maybe this is our chance. If we can get him on the spot in front of hundreds of people, everyone would know.”

They steal through the city to examine the square. It is entirely flat and large enough to fit several hundred people. A raised stage sits at the north end of the square with several steps leading up. Wide canals line the perimeter of the square and lead away in four directions. They will find no cover here, but neither will any hidden guards.

The square fills slowly. Once a hundred or so people have appeared, Sokka and Suki slip into the crowd, meandering towards the sides. They only have one shot.

Over the heads of the crowd, they see Gonuk approach from the north, accompanied by half a dozen guards. He ascends the steps, fiddles with a bone speaking-trumpet, and hovers in the middle of the stage. The guards lurk around the steps. 

Gonuk clears his throat. “Hey, guys,” he begins smugly into the trumpet, “I know we’ve all had, like, a really bad past two weeks. I just want to congratulate you for how well we’re all handling the tragic death of our Chief Hahn and the betrayal of Queen Yue. Although, let’s be honest, we all saw the signs, am I right?”

“Kill her!” someone shouts from the front.

Sokka balls his hands into fists as he wends his way towards the front, aiming to get as close to the stage as possible. This motherfucker… 

Gonuk coughs to hide a snort. “Well, she’ll definitely face the full extent of the law. Not only for what she did to Chief Hahn, but also for all of the, uh, extremely harmful and just ridiculous laws she had the nerve to put in place over the past few years. And the problem with that is we’re losing what makes us the Northern Water Tribe!” 

The farther forward Sokka gets, the more the audience jostle and shout. 

“You know? I did the best I could, but with Yue’s support for these people-- it’s gonna be tough to undo. Like that Southern girl who had the gall to come up here and demand we change our whole waterbending system just for her-- remember that? And the whole initiative to tear down the front wall?” He pauses blissfully while some of the audience members boo. 

Sokka reaches the front corner. He puts a hand on his boomerang and scans the guards. 

“I mean, even this whole assassination thing is just not the Water Tribe way! It’s Fire Nation! What Yue did is way too similar to that whole Fire-Lady-Iling-killing-Sozin thing-- and we’re not gonna just stand here, and let our country turn out the same way!” Gonuk stares petulantly out over the crowd.

Suki is doubtless in place now. It’s time.

Sokka elbows himself some room and throws first one boomerang, and then the other. The first one hits two of the guards on the right side, Suki’s side, and the other takes out one on the left. 

“What the--” Gonuk begins, jumping back.

The crowd erupts in shouts and movement as Sokka pushes out of the audience and pounds up the steps. He finds three guards ready to meet him. A trio of water whips designed to knock him down the steps sweeps out. He narrowly twists to avoid them, glad of his childhood insistence on sparring with Katara, and ducks in close, taking a swing with his boomerang and connecting with the shoulder of one of the guards. He teeters for a moment as he pushes past the guards, dangerously close to falling off the stage, and spins to attack again. 

With luck, Suki is making her way towards Gonuk and divesting him of his evidence.

But the stage tilts under Sokka. He steadies himself, only to realize that the very surface of the stage is shifting and melting under him. It unceremoniously dumps him and the guards into a sloshing pool of rapidly forming ice water in the middle, making them gasp and collide. To his horror the water freezes again, trapping his body from the waist down and his floundering hands. A grunt of pain alerts him that Suki also has fallen hard on the stage as the ice beneath her turns liquid.

A string of bone weights comes whirling in from the crowd, wrapping around Gonuk’s legs and felling him as he makes for freedom. He yelps, hastily drawn knife flying out of sight. 

In the next second, seven more figures, hooded in parkas but not masked, leap onto the stage. One man snatches up the speaking-trumpet and strides to the edge facing the crowd.

“Everyone, listen,” he booms sternly. His companions surround Gonuk, whose eyes dart around desperately. “This is not a coup. We have evidence that Gonuk is a traitor who has taken bribes from the Northern Fire Nation.”

The crowd has morphed from an orderly throng into chaos: some people are running away, boats are coming near to investigate the noise, there are minor fights where some have tried to storm the stage, and confused shouts sound from every direction.

“That’s Master Tsato,” Sokka hears someone say numbly from the front.

“Master Pakku?” Tsato requests, not taking his stern eyes off the crowd.

Another man, whitehaired and grave, roughly extracts a few papers from Gonuk’s tunic and hands them to Tsato.

Tsato unfolds them. Thus begins a full reading of the letter-- multiple letters, in fact, all full of fawning and requests for cooperation-- and multiple invitations for skeptical members of the crowd to come up and inspect the evidence themselves. Tsato’s dedication to the traditions of the Northern Water Tribe is also frequently invoked. Gonuk begins to look more and more ill with each revelation. 

“You all know where I stand,” Tsato declares. “You know my dedication to preserving the authenticity and strength of this country. This man--” He points damningly to Gonuk. “--does not feel the same. He would sell us out-- and kill his own brother!-- to advance his own career. Such treachery cannot be tolerated.”

“That’s not true!” Gonuk says shrilly at last. “That’s just… a-- a joke! I would never--” 

Tsato’s companions drag Gonuk to his feet and Tsato turns the full force of his bushy-eyebrowed glare onto him. 

Gonuk’s mouth moves soundlessly for a moment. “I was framed!” he shrieks. 

A half dozen armed men hurry up to the stage, having finally gotten through the crowd, and begin talking with Tsato. The murmurs of the crowd rise to a confused din. 

“Hey!” Sokka shouts, finally regaining his voice. His limbs are going numb. “I’m not with Gonuk! Anyone want to get me out of here?”

One of the hooded figures turns at the sound of his voice. They take a few steps forward and then break into a run towards him. As they go, they make a circular motion with one hand, and Sokka sighs with relief as the ice around him begins to melt. They help him flop onto solid ice as the frozen guards stare in envy and resentment. 

Sokka looks up to find his rescuer pulling back their hood. Her blue eyes are wide and familiar. Two loops of hair swing against her cheeks.

“Sokka?”


	10. Katara's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Katara relates what happened to her during the months she’s been gone.

“Katara? You’re okay!” Joy and disbelief war within him.

“Yeah! What are you doing here?”

“What am I--?” Sokka splutters as Katara helps him stand on stiff limbs. “You-- you went missing! And I found your necklace with the Northern Fire Nation!” He shakily pulls out the necklace, crusty with ice. In the background, he dimly notices the newly arrived guards escorting Gonuk off the stage; Pakku is saying something to the assembled crowd, but Sokka doesn’t have any attention to spare.

Katara’s eyes light up at the sight of the necklace, and then her expression clouds. “Wait, you fought the Northern Fire Nation?”

“Uh, yeah! What happened to you? How did you end up--” He staggers as he reaches a slippery patch and Katara grabs his arm.

“We need to get you inside.”

“Wait-- you need to get Suki out of the ice.” He points. “She’s here on Yue’s orders.”

Once Sokka has been satisfied that another of the waterbenders on stage is hurrying to Suki’s aid, they descend and walk to the edge of the square, where Katara bends a bridge of ice over the canal. 

“I still want to know what happened,” says Sokka.

“But I sent letters! Didn’t you get them?”

“No! Why would I be here if I got your letters?!” 

“You don’t have to get mad at me. I just got-- sidetracked!” 

In the next street Katara guides him towards a nondescript house. They duck inside, meeting mercifully warm air, and Sokka sinks gratefully onto a pile of furs, rubbing his frozen hands.

“We did it,” Katara says breathlessly to someone else.

Sokka feels a sudden rush of warmth and tilts his head up to find a suddenly roaring fire, and next to it a short man with grey hair and beard and twinkling eyes. Sokka lets his head thunk back against the furs. “And who is this?”

“This is Iroh. We’ve been working together to track the Northern Fire Nation spies. Iroh, this is my brother, Sokka.”

Sokka squints, feeling something pulling at the edge of his mind. That name sounds so familiar.

Iroh bends over him. “You look like you had a rough battle.”

“It wouldn’t have been if Katara hadn’t frozen me to the--” Sokka blinks at the sight of Iroh’s kindly gold eyes and sits up so fast that Iroh is forced to bend quickly backwards so that they don’t collide. “Wait-- are you-- Zuko’s uncle?”

Iroh’s eyes go wide. “You know Zuko?”

“Yeah! He’s my friend! We traveled all over the Earth Kingdom, and--” He shakes his head. One thing at a time. “Wait. First, I want to know what happened to you, Katara. I thought you’d been kidnapped!”

Katara sits slowly next to him. “Well, I did.”

“But what-- how--” Sokka takes in a deep breath. “Start at the beginning. Please.”

Katara feels conflicted. 

On one hand, she has promised to return home, and she will of course be needed there; on the other hand, is it really right to leave the Northern Water Tribe in the midst of a culture war when she partially started it? When she’d declared she was willing to literally fight for her right to waterbending training as a woman, she hadn’t exactly been trying to start a social movement, but at the same time, she couldn’t live there and not be determined to spark change. There are good people there, she knows, who will keep up the good fight, Gonuk’s thuggish conservatism be damned. But has Katara done _enough?_ Will they be okay? There are still people who will need her help. There always will be.

She idly bends the water into shapes around her ankles as she cools her feet in the stream, thinking, breathing, listening to the nature sounds around her. 

A twig cracks, and her gaze jerks towards the trees behind her.

She stands quickly, pushing off the bank and backing into the stream. It could be nothing. Should be nothing. But her instincts are screaming _danger._

She trains her eyes on the treeline. The leaves shake. She feels eyes on her from behind.

She whips around, water already rising, but even as she meets a pair of shadowy eyes behind a bush she feels her arms weaken and the water sloshes back into the stream. She gasps. What is this? She’s never felt anything like this before. 

Her attacker comes forward out of the foliage, and Katara hears others approaching behind her. The hooded figure twists an outstretched fist as if picking an apple off a tree and she staggers to her knees in the stream, dizzy. The water rushes past her fingers, heedless to her internal pleas.

“Finally,” one attacker hisses. 

There is the sound of them wading through the stream towards her, the gentle splashing a welcome sound in the wrong situation, and then she knows no more.

She wakes up with her head pounding. She attempts to sit up before the scrape of the rope around her wrists and ankles drags her into full awareness. 

The stream is gone. She bounces along in the back of a wagon, and crates are piled high around her. She can see flashes of trees through some of the slats. She attempts to swallow to find a rag roughly stuffed in her mouth. Her boots don’t seem to have made the journey with her, and she realizes with a pang as her chin bumps her chest that her necklace, the precious proof of her mastery of all seven stages of Southern waterbending, is gone.

“Doing all right back there?” comes a voice lightly.

Katara cranes her neck upwards to spot a man frowning down at her. It sends a shiver down her spine. 

“A-okay, my friend,” the man snorts, not taking his eyes off Katara. He unscrews a canteen and takes a long, slow drink with one hand. 

Katara reaches out to the water with her stiff fingers and feels nothing, not even a ripple, and it’s then that true terror hits her.

They trundle along for days. Every bump of the wheels sends a ripple of nausea through her. She’s out much of the time, fitfully, unwillingly. Each swim back to consciousness brings anew a slew of confusion, fear, and anger. 

What could they possibly want with her?

“You ready to take over, Kimbli?” the man guarding Katara calls, sounding strained.

“Tch, already? My turn was just over an hour ago!”

“Yeah, well, what do you want me to say?”

A grumbling woman clambers into the back of the wagon to take the man’s place. She grabs at empty air purposefully as if collecting cobwebs, clenching her hand into a fist, and the man sighs and climbs out. 

A jolt runs through Katara. For a fraction of a second the weight lifted-- and then it crashed over her again, drowning her mind in dizziness. She squeezes her eyes shut to ride out the worst of it.

“Way more trouble than it’s worth,” the woman mumbles. “We need to figure some way around this.” 

“Boss is working on it,” the man calls back. 

“And we couldn’t have waited until then _why?”_

Katara’s head goes cold and fuzzy, and she fades out again.

Katara counts the party during her waking moments. Aside from the man and woman who take turns watching her, there are five others. Two sit at the driver’s end of the cart, and the other three walk alongside-- except when they pass through towns, when they all hop on for a headlong gallop past. Katara knows it’s to reduce the chances of her calling for help. She can barely manage a couple of knocks against the sides with her bound limbs, and they are indistinguishable from the ostrich-horses’ galloping.

At one point she wakes up to find large eyes half a foot away from hers. She jerks in surprise, and the eyes blink. A tear slides out. 

Katara takes in a deep breath, attempting to get her bearings. She’s still in the cart, but another captive has been added: a small boy, an Earth Kingdom villager by the looks of his plain, greenish clothing. Tear tracks cover his red cheeks.

Katara’s heart squeezes, and she tries to reassure the boy through her gaze. He closes his eyes. 

“It’s like taking candy from a baby,” one of the walkers says lowly. “Why couldn’t we have just focused on those ones?”

“I don’t fucking know,” snaps the man, now in the back of the cart with Katara and the boy. “If we’d just--” His angry gesturing with his unfisted hand knocks into a crate, and it topples an inch from Katara’s nose, spilling mirrors out. Katara squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of shattering.

“Great-- now there’s fucking glass everywhere--” 

“It’s your own fault, Yaro--”

As the man curses and toes the shards into a corner, Katara lifts her head slightly and puts it down on a larger shard that has landed next to her head. The cool, sharp-edged glass presses dangerously against her ear. 

Still vaguely dizzy, she endures the sharp dread of waiting to be discovered as she shifts the glass shard, inch by inch, down towards her hands. Thankfully, the man has moved to the opposite side of the cart, facing Katara’s face and not her bound hands.

She feels a tiny trickle of warmth down her hand as she fumbles with the shard. She slides it ever so slowly against the ropes. 

They break. The man stares absently out at the scenery. 

Katara curls slowly into a ball, straining to saw through the ropes around her ankles. Her heart leaps as she succeeds. She lies still.

“Town coming up, guys. Hop on,” calls the driver. 

“Wait, let’s just stop for a second,” the woman who switches off with the man says quickly. 

“Kimbli, come on,” the driver groans. The cart slows. 

“It’s not my fault I have a small bladder,” Kimbli snaps.

There’s the rustle of bushes and leaves as she jogs off into the trees. 

Katara’s heart races. They’re near a town. The other guard who seems to have the power to keep her dizzy and immobile is gone. Now’s her chance.

Grasping the shard tightly, she shoves herself up on her elbow and lunges for the male guard, seeing his head turn and his eyes widen as she goes. She’s aiming for his hands, but even with a few hours of proper circulation returning to her limbs, she’s still clumsy and weak. She misses his arm with the shard and instead throws her weight against him. He gasps, fist opening. In a second she has drawn the water out of his canteen. She turns to strike the others, who are running to the back of the cart. 

But a horrible twisting feeling makes her lose her grip. The water splashes over her feet. As she desperately tries to regain her hold on the water she staggers. She spots Kimblee two paces away, grim-faced and hand fisted. But she still has a weapon, doesn’t she?

She whirls, only to see another of the guards dragging a fire dagger to the little boy’s throat.

She jerks to a stop.

“Bind her,” the guard says cooly.

She stands still while the guards roughly bind her hands and feet again, this time tying the ropes right down to the tips of her fingers. She’s shoved back down and the guard sits instead of getting back off the cart. 

Yaro deals her a sharp kick in the side before sitting down, clutching his bruised arm. “Kimbli was right,” he growls. “More trouble than it’s worth.”

Even after they gallop through the next town, two others stay in the cart with either Yaro or Kimbli at all times. 

She’s utterly cornered. With no way to permanently keep them from doing-- whatever it is they’re doing to her-- she won’t be able to waterbend enough to get free.

The little boy has taken to curling up against her. She hopes she’ll be able to get him out of this.

As the guards chat, she feels a light touch against her ankle. Like… a rock, almost. Bumping against the ropes. There it is again. And again. 

Her eyes widen and she forces herself not to glance at the boy, whose face is buried in her shoulder. Could he be-- earthbending?

Maybe they don’t know how to block his bending. Or even if they do, maybe he’s so young that they hadn’t considered him a threat. 

She presses her cheek against his hair in cautious encouragement and reassurance. 

Eventually, the threads snap, one by one. 

Katara lies quietly, biding her time. 

Some hours later, they pass onto a narrow path. A distant rushing reaches their ears from the wind through the trees below a sharp drop-off on one side. The cart rumbles over the uneven ground, occasionally dipping into muddy puddles left from the recent rain. 

Now’s her chance. No hesitating. No time to get her waterbending back.

Katara rolls her weight onto her shoulders, lifting her legs, and slams her feet into the chest of the guard sitting next to Kimbli on the side nearest the drop-off. He flails over the side with a yelp as Katara rolls to her feet. 

The spooked ostrich-horses screech and take off. The cart jolts and picks up speed, thundering and tilting. The two walking guards, now running and hollering, are being left in the dust.

The guard on the other side of the cart jumps up and she feels the heat of a fire dagger coming at her left side. She throws herself backwards, leading with her head, and hears a crack and a shout as their skulls connect. 

She then lunges wildly for Kimbli, who has been rushing towards the boy, and the two of them, flailing, slam against the side of the wagon. In the struggle, Kimbli lifts her wrist as if in triumph and twists it in the same motion that incapacitated Katara back in the stream. 

But Katara’s _already_ dizzy, she’s _already_ weak, and she’s _already_ unable to waterbend. Kimbli, unarmed, can’t do much that she hasn’t done already, and Katara sees the realization in her eyes as they widen, the wind from their speed streaming her hair into her face. 

Katara shoves her over the side with the strength of desperation, feeling the unpracticed muscles in her arms and back pull dangerously, and Kimbli rolls down the sharp incline, scraping off some of the brush and loose soil as she goes. 

Katara turns and falls on the groaning man whose nose she has just broken, scrabbling through his shirt until she finds a short knife. She rips out the gag and turns.

Yaro jumps into the back from the driver’s seat, swinging an axe. Katara narrowly avoids the blow, sending her wheeling back into a pile of crates. Katara lifts her knife belatedly.

The boy’s rock hits Yaro in the eye and he shouts, hands falling. Katara jumps for him, grazing him in the side with the knife as they grapple. Katara wishes desperately for some source of aid-- they’re so close-- if she could just push him a little more--

A gust of hearty wind buffets the cart, separating them and rattling the wood alarmingly. Katara crashes into the opposite side of the cart while Yaro, the wind savagely whipping his clothes and hair around his body, topples over the cliff side with a yell.

Katara takes in a sharp breath. She can really _breathe_ again. She flexes her fingers. Ability seems to buzz in her limbs.

The last two guards begin to catch up. As the driver finally gets the ostrich-horses to slow and begins to turn to her with a snarl, Katara lifts both arms up in a sweeping motion. The driver’s eyes follow the column of water up as it rises from the many nearby puddles above their heads in a glittering sheet. 

Katara sweeps her arms sharply to the side as if shoving the mess off a table, and the wave crashes into the driver, the groaning bloody-faced guard, and the two remaining guards bringing up the rear, carrying them over the side of the ravine. 

She kneels, panting, to help the little boy with the last of his bonds. “You okay?” Her voice is raspy from not speaking for days.

He nods slowly, eyes wide. 

“That was pretty quick thinking. You did a great job.” Katara glances at the ostrich-horses, now strolling placidly as if nothing happened. “Let’s get out of here before they make it back up.”

Another sound comes into hearing: a third pair of ostrich feet on the rocky path. The rider pulls up short, taking in the scene with surprise. 

The man introduces himself as Iroh, a Southern Fire Nation spy working on Firelord Iling’s orders to track the Northern Fire Nation. Katara cautiously allows him to tag along as she spurs the ostrich-horses back the way they came.

“My associates and I have been tracking that group for three months,” Iroh tells her grimly as they make a cautious camp that night. “The Northern Fire Nation is planning something to gain the upper hand over the South, and they’re dragging the other nations into it. This is the first time I’ve caught up with them. More tea? It will help you heal.” 

Katara accepts, careful not to spill it on her recently healed forearms. The back of her head throbs insistently. “But why did they want us?”

Iroh pours the boy, who has mumbled that his name is Bao, another cup. “That is what I don’t know. They’re only taking benders-- usually children. They could be trying to brainwash them into becoming Northern Fire Nation soldiers. Or they might just be trying to weaken the other nations.”

“They’ve done this before?” Katara feels sick. She looks at Bao’s wide eyes and small, trembling hands, imagining dozens of other children like him taken by the Northern Fire Nation. She curls her hands into fists. “We have to stop them. I’ll come with you. I can’t let this go on.”

Iroh smiles at her. “That’s a very noble cause. I would be glad to have you join me. But I think first, we have to get Bao home.”

They travel east retracing the wagon’s path as closely as Katara can remember. After two weeks, they thankfully locate Bao’s family. It would not have been nearly as easy if his family hadn’t gone far afield from their village looking for him.

Their teary reunion only strengthens Katara’s need to stay. She rubs her itching eyes and delicately probes the eye bags she can feel forming. She had been going home, but-- no, there’s no way. Her family will understand. She sends two lengthy letters off south the next time they pass a city and fights off her doubt in the face of the enormity of hurt being done to people.

Some time later they encounter a dozen Northern Fire Nation spies in a forest. There is no way to beat them all, especially with the threat of losing bending. But their overheard plans to plant a traitor in the Northern Water Tribe, enabling them access to as many waterbenders as they need, allow Katara and Iroh to prepare for the inevitable confrontation as they move north. They contact Iroh’s fellow White Lotus members, make their way into the Northern Water Tribe, and wait. 

Sokka rubs his temples.

“You okay?” says Katara next to him.

Sokka realizes for the first time how tired she looks. “Yeah, I’m fine, I just… need a second to process this.” He sighs. “If your letters got there, it was after I left. We were worried about you. That’s why I came up here. And when I found your necklace...”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I just… I couldn’t just leave when people were in danger. I had to stay.”

And isn’t _that_ exactly like Katara.

He’s been redundant this whole time. Katara didn’t need him. Yue didn’t even need him to help depose Gonuk in the end. So much for proving his worth.

“I keep telling you, _I don’t know.”_ The man shivers a little in the cold room. “All I knew’s that they wanted to use their bending for some sort of energy bank. I _don’t_ know what for, or how, and I _don’t know_ anything about how they get them there. I was just backup, for-- for the big guys.”

Sokka turns from the window to Katara. “He’s the only one they caught?”

Katara nods slowly, her voice tight. “They all got away.” She shifts on her feet. “He might still have something we can use, though! Something that’ll help us find the others.”

“How did they even get out?”

Katara lowers her eyes. “They probably had help.”


	11. Avatar Aang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko wanders the spirit world. Aang lives a life.

Aang wakes up on a boat.

Someone is bending over him. He blinks. 

She comes into focus slowly: a girl his age with brown skin and blue eyes. She wrinkles her nose sympathetically. “So what happened to you?”

Aang sits up slowly, a blanket sliding down his chest. His voice is hoarse. “What? Where am I?”

“You’re on the Northern Water Tribe’s diplomatic ship. We found you floating in the ocean. You had hypothermia and frostbite.”

“Kanna,” a woman’s voice warns sternly. Aang hears footsteps and a middle-aged woman in an apron comes into view. She pushes Aang back down gently. “Don’t bother him.”

“He asked, Mom!” Kanna pouts. 

“How are you feeling?” The woman sits down near him. 

Aang stares up at the wooden ceiling, feeling the ship rocking under him. He tries to squirm a little, testing his limbs-- “Okay. Except my head hurts, and my leg _really_ hurts--” He sits bolt upright, dizzying himself. “Appa! Did you find him with me?”

“Appa was--” Kanna’s mother starts.

“He’s my sky bison! I have to find him--” Aang rolls off the bed before she can stop him, searching for the floor with his feet, and immediately crumples.

Kanna catches him.

His head spinning, Aang stares down at the floor, and at his feet-- but…

“Here,” Kanna says gently, helping him sit back on the bed.

Aang stares blankly at the spot where his left foot should have been. 

Kanna’s mother sits on his other side and puts her arm around him.

“They had to amputate it,” Kanna says quietly. “The frostbite…” 

Aang takes a deep breath. Impossibly, his foot aches. 

“We have your sky bison. He’s on deck,” Kanna pipes up, clearly trying to cheer him. “And totally fine, by the way. He keeps trying to get in here but he’s too big.”

On Aang’s insistence and Kanna’s loud agreement, Kanna’s mother allows them to go on deck to visit Appa.

Appa bellows and the deck shakes as he bounds forward. Aang feels a smile break over his face for the first time. “Appa!” He pushes off with a gust of air from Kanna’s shoulder to collide with Appa, clinging tightly to fistfuls of his fur. Appa makes a loud rumbling sound and curls around Aang.

“So what’s your name? Where are you from?” Kanna calls.

Aang scrambles up onto Appa’s back, trying not to look at his own bandage-wrapped leg. “I’m Aang. I’m from the Southern Air Temple.”

“I’m Kanna. But you probably already knew that.” She scrambles up to sit next to him. “I’m sorry about your leg.”

“It’s okay.” Having reunited with a mercifully unhurt Appa, Aang feels a little better already. “Airbenders have all kinds of prosthetics. I can get a wooden foot. Besides, it’s not important for flying.”

“So how did you wind up in the ocean?”

“I…” Aang wracks his memory. He remembers the air scooter, playing games with Gyatso, rumors of a war on the horizon… But where the events leading up to his injury should be, there’s nothing. “...I don’t remember.”

“Huh.” Kanna kicks her heels gently against Appa’s side. “Maybe it’ll come to you.”

“Yeah! I bet it will.” He gasps. “Oh, no-- Gyatso! He’ll be so worried-- I have to get back!" He scrambles for the front of the saddle, but Kanna grabs the back of his tunic. 

“You can’t go flying off in that shape! Besides, we’re almost there. We just left the Southern Water Tribe. We should be there tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Aang reluctantly sits back down. He sighs. “I am gonna be in _so_ much trouble. Monk Tashi is never gonna let me hear the end of this.”

Kanna shrugs. “Well, at least you’ll have a cool story to tell everyone. Not everybody gets half-frozen in an iceberg. When we found you you were half in, half out. The penguin-seals were keeping you company with your bison.” 

“What’s a penguin-seal?”

“Oh, they’re these cool animals they have in the South-- you can go sledding on them!” Kanna gushes. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon swapping stories. They attempt a game of tag with Aang airbending himself around the deck on a small wagon, but Kanna’s mother puts a stop to that quickly, and afterwards Aang is banished back to his small sickroom. 

The next morning they arrive at the Southern Air Temple, and Aang waves goodbye to Kanna after they drop him off with the airbenders.

But it isn’t the Southern Air Temple Aang remembers. He recognizes no one, and no one recognizes him. Especially distressingly, Gyatso is nowhere to be found. 

“Hey, don’t worry,” says one of the monks soothingly, bending down to look Aang in the eye and setting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re clearly from one of the Air Temples. Maybe after your injury you just got a little mixed up. We’ll figure out where you belong.”

But they don’t.

Zuko finally blocks up the entrance of the cave with brush, leaving only a small hole for Druk to go through. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be under. “If I die, go and find Sokka,” he tells Druk sternly. Druk snorts and walks away. Zuko tries not to think that he might never see Sokka, his uncle, Lu Ten, or anyone else he cares about ever again. 

“Ka Lan Do?” Zuko calls. It echoes faintly. He’s seen no sign of her for hours. He’s not sure what he’ll do if she doesn’t answer.

A warm breeze brushes at his back and Zuko turns to find her standing at the back of the cave. 

“I’m ready.” He lifts his chin, clenching his sweaty hands. This is it, his chance to finally put something right-- paltry though it may be in the face of his shame. 

“Sit down.” 

He does so, ignoring the rough stone floor. 

She takes his hands in her own, tendrils of hair curling over her fingers like gloves, and presses her palms flat against his. Her skin is inhumanly smooth beneath the hair, like a curved glass. “By the way,” she says lazily, “it wasn’t your dates with Jin that fulfilled my criteria for real romance.” She catches his eyes. “I hope you find your way back. It would be a shame to lose that.”

Before Zuko can answer, she presses forward, her hands going straight through his, her body passing through his torso.

A dizzy sensation hits him, and he distantly senses his body slumping backwards, but something keeps him anchored to those frighteningly smooth hands which tighten around his. Instead of being pushed, he’s now being pulled along like a kite. He slowly turns his head to see his own body prone on the floor, and Druk curling up against his side. His senses leave him.

There have been lots of Gyatsos known at the Southern Air Temple, but the only one that sounds like it might be Aang’s Monk Gyatso died nearly forty years ago in a massacre, and that can’t be him. Aang just saw him-- well-- however long ago it was that he had his accident. He’s surprised to find that the war seems to have cooled down as well, with the Fire Nation descending into Civil War instead of plotting to attack the other nations. How badly did the accident mess with his head? 

Eventually he forms new bonds with new airbenders. The monk who helped him when he first arrived, Dradul, becomes a good friend and mentor (though not enough to make Aang forget Gyatso), and Lhadron and Dorje become good friends his own age. 

He tries not to worry that Gyatso never existed at all, and that Aang made up him, and maybe Aang’s entire life, in his ill dreams. 

A few years after Aang’s rescue, an Earth Kingdom ship docks to trade at the temple. Aang spots a familiar face among the passengers and rushes down to the beach docks. “Kanna!”

She turns with a flinch, and Aang stops. Her eyes rove the crowd suspiciously, and Aang waves. They lock eyes. Kanna starts to wend her way through the crowd towards him.

“It’s me, Aang. You remember, right?” Aang tries not to let the nervousness show in his voice. 

“Yeah, of course!” Kanna conjures up a smile, though it seems subdued. A carved necklace Aang doesn’t remember her wearing is around her neck. “How’ve you been? How’s your leg?”

“Great!” He shows her the wooden prosthetic, cunningly carved with pictures of Appa and other sky bison soaring through the sky, a gift shyly presented by Lhadron. “How about you? Are you on another diplomatic mission?”

“No,” Kanna admits with reluctance. “I’m-- well, I’m moving, actually. To the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Oh, wow. Your family too?”

Kanna stares fixedly at the path. “No, no, they’re back at ho… they’re staying in the Northern Water Tribe.”

“Maybe we can hang out more, then!”

Kanna meets his eyes again and gives him a smile. “Yeah. We should.”

One visit becomes two, and two become three, and three become biweekly jaunts to the Southern Water Tribe. They finally go penguin-seal sledding together. Aang has the displeasure of trying Southern Water Tribe cuisine. They try to walk on top of the fragile, newly constructed igloo dome covering the town once and nearly kill a few people when it collapses-- only Kanna’s relationship with the chief’s son, Sito, gets them out of that. 

Aang’s pre-rescue memories become hazy: the artifacts of a bygone age, dulled by time. Who can say what he really remembers, anyway? He has friends, he has the younger airbenders to care for-- memory does play tricks on you sometimes, at least according to Dradul. 

He tries to put Gyatso, and his nagging feeling that he’s forgotten something important, out of his mind. 

Two years after her arrival, Kanna drunkenly tells Aang that she had not “moved” so much as fled; three years after that Aang attends her wedding-- to Sito, of course. 

And Aang, well, after years of passing infatuations with pretty boys and pretty girls, he flies home right after Kanna’s wedding and confesses his love to Lhadron during a particularly stunning sunset, and the light turns her happy tears to crimson and gold as she throws her arms around him. 

He misses out on the godfather spot for Kanna’s son to Sito’s brother, but he guesses you can’t have everything.

The first thing Zuko notices is the smell. Gone is the scent of earth; in its place is a flowery fragrance. He cracks his eyes open and blurrily watches as the petals of purple flowers delicately brush his face. He pushes himself up.

Ka Lan Do is gone. The sky is red and close. A stream runs beside him, vague beneath the thick layer of fog covering the ground. “Uh…” he tries. His voice falls dead as if on a room swaddled in cloth. 

He gets to his feet. His dates with Jin hadn’t fulfilled her criteria for real romance? Then what the fuck did? Jin’s relationship with Li Min, he guesses.

Spirits.

A hoof delicately emerges from a bush on the other side of the stream. Zuko straightens as a sheep-deer spirit bends to drink from the stream. “Excuse me. Do you know where I can find the Avatar?” 

The creature straightens, gives him a considering look, and then jerks its head to the right. 

“Thanks.”

Zuko starts off, but after stepping down from the grassy bank he flounders into a muddy pit hidden by the fog, and every movement only drags him deeper into the mire. The sheep-deer cackles as it bounds off.

“Awww,” Aang coos down at the baby in his arms. “ _Adorable._ So this is the future chief, huh? ‘Chief Sokka.’ You made a good name choice.”

“Make sure you don’t airbend right now, you’ll make a draft,” says Kanna gruffly, hovering near his elbow. Her brown hair is now streaked with white.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Aang laughs and turns his gaze to Hakoda and Kya, who watch nearby. “I bet you guys are proud. I can definitely see the two of you in this little face.” Aang remembers Hakoda’s birth like it was yesterday. When did Aang get so old?

Kya beams even as she slumps against her husband in weariness. Hakoda squeezes her a little closer. “Thank you.” 

“Are you planning on any more?”

“Aang, don’t ask them that already!” Kanna scolds, but even she can’t hide her smile.

“Yes, I think so. One more at least.” Kya turns a warm gaze to the little bundle, and Aang takes the cue to hand her child back.

Kanna sighs as they watch Kya and Hakoda mingle with the noisily congratulatory townspeople in the warm, crowded room. Somewhere there is the smell of fish cooking.

“Are you wishing Sito was here?” Aang murmurs ruefully.

“Yes.” 

“He’d be proud.”

Kanna swats his arm. “Well, what else would he be, disappointed?”

They laugh. 

“By the way…” Aang begins as casually as he can, pausing to add a little nonchalant cough. “Have they found any godparents yet or…”

“I’m sorry, Aang. They’ve asked Hakoda’s best friend to be the godfather.”

Aang sighs.

Kanna chuckles, patting him on the back. “Maybe you’ll get the next one.”

“You can laugh, Kanna, but when they have their next kid, I’ll be there.” 

Kanna loops her arm through his companionably as they look out over the party. “I’m sure you will, Aang. I’m sure you will.” 

After Zuko drags himself out of the pit, he stomps off into the brush from which the sheep-deer came, but sees no other spirits. The place is unnaturally quiet. He walks silently under red skies along the stream for what feels like hours.

A bloated, fleshy shape cruises indolently towards him under the surface of the stream, and Zuko bends over the bank to shout as it drifts near. “Hey-- could you tell me where the Avatar is?”

Tiny black eyes above a whiskered snout drift to look at him, and at once the spirit dissolves into nothing, clearing with the water babbling by. Zuko jumps into the stream and feels around. Nothing.

“Well fuck you, too!”

At least the mud is washing out. But to his bewilderment, he finds once he gets out of the stream that he’s unable to use his firebending, meaning his clothes will remain soaked.

He walks on. 

Sure, Aang had been getting more and more tired lately, but he never imagined he would just-- crumple on a walk and fade away at the relatively young age of sixty-one. Appa, and Lhadron, and Kanna-- what will they do? He hopes someone he wasn’t close to finds his body.

He becomes dimly aware that someone is standing beside him and turns his head with an effort away from his own corpse, peacefully splayed out as if sleeping.

The man looking back at him is Aang’s age, maybe a little older. He is dressed in red robes, with a flame-shaped hairpiece around his topknot. His eyebrows are drawn into a deep frown; his mouth is thin. 

Aang feels suddenly, ridiculously, as if he’s about to be scolded. “Uh, hello. Are you, uh… have you passed away too?”

“Not recently.” The man’s expression is turning sad. “I came to get you.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“I am Avatar Roku.”

Surprised, Aang bows.“This is an honor, Avatar Roku. But why did you come to get _me?”_

As Aang straightens, Roku gently settles a hand on his translucent shoulder. “Aang, what do you remember about your accident? Why did you leave?”

“I… left? Why did I…” 

A storm. There was lightning. Rain painfully pelting his face, him gripping fistfulls of Appa’s soaking fur, and--

Aang leans against a nearby tree to support himself. 

“Do you remember?”

Aang sucks in a shaky breath that he no longer needs. Each piece uncovers itself in unpleasant clarity as if he has accidentally glimpsed the secret to a magic trick. “Wait-- I-- I ran away. The monks were…” He frowns, and Monk Tashi’s face comes to his mind more clearly than it has in fifty years. “They wanted to send me away from Gyatso.” 

“And why did they want to do that?” Roku prompts gently. 

“Because I was…” Aang stills completely. 

The next one, a many-headed bat-lion Zuko comes across in a swamp, tries to take several bites out of him, and with no swords or firebending Zuko isn’t willing to test whether injury here will hurt him in the real world. This sets him on a sweaty, mucky twenty-minute long scramble through the swamp in an entirely new direction.

_This is like the encounter with Taktentakau back at the Southern Air Temple with Sokka. Wish he was here. Don’t think about that._

The guilt weighs Aang down more than anything he’s ever known. He abandoned his duty. He abandoned his duty and his people, and allowed horrible things to go on in the world while he was-- playing, and-- living. The way Gyatso, Tashi, and all the other airbenders of the Southern Air Temple of Aang’s time never got to. 

Because of Aang.

“You can’t change the past,” Roku tells him gently, those first months in the spirit world. “The new Avatar will come into their own, and you have to be there for them when they do. It’s our job to pass our wisdom on to them.”

“I don’t know that I have much wisdom, Roku,” Aang mutters, sitting on a log and watching a pair of frog spirits chase each other across a pond. At least in the spirit world his knees no longer ache, and neither does the spot where his prosthetic connects. He can get up without using airbending or his hands now. 

“You do. We all do. You lived a long life, didn’t you? And in fact…” Roku sits heavily beside him on the log. “It was my responsibility originally. It was my failure that let Sozin go to war. You can’t take all the blame.”

And yet, it is now Aang’s job to share his wisdom with the new Avatar, who is growing to adulthood, knowing nothing, before their eyes, and Aang seems to have failed again.

When he finally catches Taktentakau on a rare visit to the spirit world, Aang begs for him to carry a message. Few other spirits here travel to the mortal world.

“Fine,” the spirit grumbles. “One message. But only because it’s you, _Mister_ Avatar.” He bows at the thorax mockingly. 

Aang’s heart leaps at the prospect of doing right by his people at last. “Please tell the Southern Air Temple that the Northern Fire Nation is kidnapping the missing airbenders. And tell the Avatar, please, that--”

“I said _one_ message. I have places to go. People to eat.”

“Please don’t do that, and I’m begging you, I have to tell the Avatar--”

“One. Message.”

Aang hesitates. 

He chooses the airbenders.

After three more spirits, all of whom ignored him, Zuko finds himself in a forest at the end of his rope. If he had firebending he’d probably burn something, but as it is he settles for viciously kicking one of the trees.

A breeze, as of something large moving fast, and a slow growl make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Zuko glances behind himself and gets a glimpse of something black, white, and very large barreling towards him. He breaks out into a run and hears it thundering along behind him.

“Hei Bai, wait, wait, stop--!”

The shaking of the ground stops, and Zuko looks around, slowing cautiously. 

A man stands in front of the spirit with hands raised, talking to it. He turns to look at Zuko with a frown. “What did you do that for?”

“Do what?” calls Zuko breathlessly.

“Kick the tree. Hei Bai protects this forest.” The man crosses his arms disapprovingly. 

“Oh.” Zuko searches for a response and meets the creature’s eyes nervously. He bows quickly. “I’m sorry. I, uh… I promise I will never kick another tree again.”

Still bent over, out of the corner of his eye he watches the man shrug at the spirit, who wanders off after a moment of glaring suspiciously at Zuko. 

“Are you a new spirit?” the man calls, advancing towards Zuko, and Zuko feels safe enough to stand up straight. “No-- no, you’re…” He looks Zuko over curiously. “You’re human. And alive.” His face breaks into a smile. “What are you doing here? You don’t even look like an airbender.”

“I’m not. I’m looking for the past Avatar.”

The man’s smile fades. “Well, here I am. Avatar Aang at your service.”

With palpable relief Zuko explains their predicament, but Aang’s face contorts in pain as he admits he can’t tell Zuko anything about the Northern Fire Nation that Zuko doesn’t already know.

“I can only see the Air Temples sometimes because they elevate themselves spiritually. I’m not omniscient.” Aang lowers his eyes. “Without the living Avatar to anchor me in the mortal world, I have no idea what’s going on.” 

“Then who is the living Avatar? Where are they?” says Zuko urgently. 

Aang opens his mouth.

“Hei Bai isn’t that great at carrying messages, but he can get you back to the mortal world. Just don’t kick any more trees.” Aang pats Hei Bai’s side.

“Okay.” Zuko tries very hard not to move, sure that at the slightest annoyance Hei Bai will buck him off his back and leave him to die in the hellish limbo between worlds. At least the worry is a distraction from Zuko’s burgeoning irritation at how close he has been this whole time. 

“You’ll tell the Avatar, right? We _really_ have to talk.”

“Yeah. I promise.”

“Then good luck.” Aang smiles hopefully. “Oh! By the way, I think I’m technically your great-grandfather--”

Hei Bai lumbers forward into darkness.


	12. The New Avatar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko reunites with the team in the Northern Water Tribe. Revelations are had.

“Zuko!” 

Zuko looks up from his argument with the Northern Water Tribe border guards to see Sokka grinning and waving down at him from the top of the wall. It sends a spike of some strong and unnameable feeling through Zuko’s determination. “H-Hey.” 

The man next to Sokka atop the gate calls, “All right, let him through,” in resignation, and the guards open the gate. 

Sokka rushes down the stairs to meet him. “You made it! Did you do it?”

They meet in a hug that half knocks the wind out of Zuko in a pleasant way.

“Yeah. I found the Avatar.” The sense of accomplishment and accompanying spike in self-esteem will kick in any minute now, he’s sure. Any minute now. “Did you find your sister?” 

“Yeah. She’s safe.” Sokka pulls back to clasp him by the forearms, eyes alight. “We did it. We both did it. What did he say?”

“He told me who the new Avatar is.”

Sokka waits a few seconds before prompting, “So…” 

Zuko hesitates, unsure how to break this.

“Zuko?”

Over Sokka’s shoulder Zuko spots a familiar face and does a double take. “Uncle? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been tracking the Northern Fire Nation. Sokka told me all you’ve been doing.”

“Uh-- I-- I can explain--” Zuko pulls away from Sokka to address his uncle.

“Don’t worry. We can talk later.” Iroh hugs him tightly. “Right now, you need to tell us who the Avatar is.”

“Oh. Well…” He meets Sokka’s eyes as Iroh releases him and tries to keep his voice free of rage. “We’ve been chasing the _same person.”_

If he had just gone with Sokka in the first place, the way he very much wanted to, much effort and concern could have been averted. It wasn’t pining. Zuko does not pine. ( _It would be a shame to lose that,_ Ka Lan Do’s voice comes unbidden into his mind-- no, no, not the time.) 

Sokka frowns. “What…?” Zuko spots the exact moment of realization as his eyebrows jump. “Wait, you mean--”

“It’s Katara.”

Their guard trails them as they run through the city. “She’s in here,” Sokka puffs as they reach a nondescript doorway.

Zuko shoves past the guards and the skin door-flap without losing any momentum, Iroh and Sokka right behind. Several startled pairs of eyes meet his as he scans the room. 

There she is. Just as Aang described her, standing in between Suki and an old man near the fireplace. Zuko points forcefully at her with his mitten as if stabbing the last period in a hated composition. “You. You’re the Avatar.”

The assembly mostly relaxes as the guards poke their heads in to watch and it becomes clear he is not planning to attack. 

“Excuse me?” Her tone is somewhere between disbelief and derision, her gaze sharp. Her eyes flick to Sokka, standing panting next to Zuko. “Sokka, what is this?”

Sokka grimaces. “You heard him. Sounds unbelievable, I know. But it’s… possible.”

Katara opens and closes her mouth a couple times. 

The entire room stares at her.

“I-- wh-- what are you--”

Katara glances at Iroh. He nods. 

“What--” She takes a step back and Suki hastily grabs her arm to keep her from backing into the fire. “The past Avatar?” She looks around the room wildly, hand going to her necklace. “What are you _talking_ about? The Avatar hasn’t been seen for a hundred years.”

“We’ll explain. Come on. Let’s go somewhere quieter.” Sokka beckons to her, holding the door-flap open. 

Katara doesn’t move for a few seconds. At last she gives in, Suki following unbidden. Katara leads them to the next street over, to a smaller, modest building. The floor is covered with empty sleeping bags, and the fire is low.

“Sokka, what is this about?” Katara pleads. 

Iroh stoops to build up the fire and Sokka gently pushes her to sit down. 

Katara glances at Zuko distrustfully. “This must be Zuko.”

Zuko looks at Sokka. “You told her about me?”

“Well, I couldn’t really explain my journey up here without talking about you.” Sokka coughs. “So, take it away, then, Zuko.”

Katara clenches her fists while Zuko explains the Avatar’s involvement in Taktentakau’s message. Her gaze drifts nervously to the side during the bit about the deal with Ka Lan Do and Zuko’s journey to the spirit world. Her expression goes pinched when Zuko explains his talk with Aang, the revelation that Katara is the Avatar, Aang’s reason for disappearing from the world…

“He told me that you can talk to him too-- you just have to meditate and look deep within yourself,” Zuko finishes quietly.

Katara unclenches and clenches her hands. “But-- if I were the Avatar-- wouldn’t I have-- known?”

Druk crawls out of Zuko’s parka, stretches, and wanders over to curl up in Sokka’s lap. None of this is an easy feat for Druk, now the size of a small child; Katara eyes him but does not comment-- a bad sign.

An unusually hearty breeze whips the door-flap from outside, and Suki silently goes over to fix it in place before returning.

“Avatar Kyoshi was nearly twenty-five when she was discovered,” says Iroh quietly. “It is possible.”

“But I’ve trained in waterbending for my whole life! This just doesn’t-- it wouldn’t--” Katara holds out her hand, trembling; after a few moments the wall across from her cracks. “See? I can’t-- it’s just waterbending. I would’ve known!” 

The fire leaps unexpectedly, throwing Katara’s shadow sharply against the wall in the dim room. 

“Look, I know it sounds kind of ridiculous. I’d think that too.” Sokka hovers near Katara’s shoulder. “But I trust Zuko’s judgement. And if you meditate and can talk to Avatar Aang, you’ll know for sure then. ” 

“But if I’m…” Katara is breathing fast. She stands. “I could’ve stopped them. The Northern Fire Nation, I could’ve stopped them from kidnapping all those kids.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Sokka hesitantly pats her back. “And there’s still lots of other people out there who need your help-- refugees, famine victims-- they all need you! And I know you would never leave them hanging, right? Now you can--” 

“But I already have.” 

To Zuko’s horror, he spots tears pooling. 

Iroh puts his arm around Katara’s shoulders. “Katara, this isn’t your fault--”

The wind rips the door-flap free and howls into the room, stirring up the fire and tugging at their clothes and hair. Cracks web the ceiling.

Katara sniffles as her cheeks wet with tears before being whipped dry by the wind. “How many people wouldn’t have died if I’d known? It’s my responsibility and there’s so much-- there’s so many people like Bao--What if I can’t help them all?” 

Sokka looks as if he is searching wildly for something to say: “You don’t have to help them all! You just have to--” 

Katara releases a harsh, high-pitched sob, squeezing her eyes shut. The wind stops. She opens her eyes. 

They glow a harsh, pale blue. A wind ripples out from her position, throwing Iroh and Sokka back.

The ceiling explodes outwards. The walls crumble. The fire snuffs out.

The ice around and above them liquifies and rises, trembling in midair; the floor beneath them shakes into water and forms a pool that reaches deeper and deeper into the underpinning ice, the water rising above their waists. Katara rises, glowing eyes distorted by the surrounding water and all of the objects caught up in it, arms moving absently but effectively. 

Zuko flops out of the pit onto the quivering street surface and looks around to find the other three gasping and soaked, gaping up at the swirling column of water. Druk is digging his claws into Zuko’s neck. 

“KATARA!” Sokka yells. 

Neighbors spill out into the street yelling; some run. Several of those in the room where Zuko first found Katara appear on the corner, screaming to each other over the rushing of the vertical river.

The vortex tightens, allowing a foot of space for Zuko to peer dizzyingly down between it and the edge of the pit, the distance yawning out before him, Arctic earth newly visible a mile below and even it crumbling as he watches. 

“Uncle, what is this?” Zuko yells.

“It’s the Avatar State!” Iroh squints at the vortex. “All the skill of the other Avatars is activated at once!”

“What do we do?! She could destroy the whole city!”

The lip crumbles, and they all scramble farther backwards.

Zuko is smacked by something wet and heavy and pushes it off to find Suki’s parka. She stumbles to a crouch, gazing at the vortex. 

Sokka grabs her arm. “What are you doing?!”

Suki shakes him off. “Something, which is more than I can say for any of you!” 

Sokka’s expression hardens. “What do you need?”

Some rope is procured in the chaos, and they tie one end tightly around Suki’s waist. 

“I can--” Sokka starts, but Suki quells him with a look.

“Let me!”

She takes a running start and jumps into the vortex, the color of her hair and clothes quickly disappearing as she’s carried upward. 

A nerve-wracking half a minute passes while they warn people away from the area and anxiously tighten the knot on the other end of the rope.

“...fought to be taught waterbending-- It mattered to me!” they hear Suki shout distantly, muffled within. “It mattered!”

A minute passes. The water slows, and her voice becomes slightly clearer. 

“I know it’s overwhelming! But when you did those things-- they _meant_ something. Even the things that seem small.” 

Drops of water begin to rain down on their heads.

The firmness of Suki’s voice wavers. “If you could help even just one person, it’d be worth it. I know you inspired me!” Her words ring in the near silence.

Has Katara really become that famous in the Northern Water Tribe? Zuko guesses it’s fitting for an Avatar.

The water begins to dribble down, and then it splashes in great torrents, soaking the entire street before sloshing back into the pit. One wave delivers Suki, coughing and hacking but unharmed as they help her to her feet. The last of it washes up Katara, wholly drenched and seemingly unconscious. 

Sokka splashes his way towards her and gathers her up, and they take her inside.

“I fucked up,” says Sokka quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. “Katara, I’m so sorry-- I didn’t mean to-- overwhelm you…”

Katara nods slowly from the bed, and Zuko turns away from the doorway. 

He watches his uncle putter around making tea. Strange to see the familiar ritual again after what seems like so long.

Zuko hears loud voices outside the house: several people are angry, and someone else sounds to be arguing in Katara’s defense. “Should we go out and explain to them?”

“We’re strangers here, Zuko.” Iroh fusses with the teapot. “I think we’d do more harm than good right now. Pakku can handle it well enough for the moment. And besides, I think we have our hands full.”

“Uncle,” says Zuko lowly. “I’m sorry that I acted without your permission. Or Great-Grandmother’s. I have no excuse for all this.” 

“You don’t need our permission, Zuko.” He takes the teacups that Zuko hands him and arranges them on the tray. “What you did was show the initiative to act for the good of others.” He smiles at Zuko. “That’s an admirable quality. Your friend told me about what you’ve been doing. I’m proud of you. Though I do want to hear it from your perspective later.”

Zuko wants to believe him.

“We couldn’t have known that this would happen. She couldn’t even have known that this would happen. Sometimes the rivers of life have hidden bends.”

They return to the main room of the building, where Iroh sets down the tray in the middle of a quietly awkward circle: Suki with her eyes closed, Sokka drumming his fingers on the ground, Katara staring blankly at her hands and wrapped in a blanket.

Iroh and Zuko sit down. Each of the five of them picks up a teacup. 

“Well, don’t everyone talk at once,” mutters Suki lightly after a minute of them all blowing on tea.

Katara opens her mouth.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” says Sokka warningly.

Katara glares at him. “It’s my fault. I can apologize if I want to.”

“Well, don’t.” Sokka sips his tea loftily. 

Katara sniffs. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t said some of what you said.”

“Sure,” says Sokka.

Katara swirls her cup of tea. She takes a deep breath and looks up at Suki. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Suki flushes a little. “I was just doing what I could.”

“I just thought of all the people I couldn’t help-- won’t be able to help, and it made me feel... I didn’t know I could… ” Katara shakes her head and looks to Iroh. “I have to learn the elements now, right?”

“Yes. Ideally, you would start with air, which is the easiest for a waterbender. But now that you’ve entered the Avatar state, the Northern Fire Nation will know that the Avatar is back. So it might be a good idea to start sooner, if you’re ready.” His tone is cautious. 

“Well, I have to do something,” Katara admits. 

“ _We_ have to do something,” Iroh corrects her firmly. “You won’t do this alone. This doesn’t fall only on your shoulders.”

Katara smiles reluctantly. 

“He told me he was friends with your grandmother,” says Zuko, just now remembering. 

Katara and Sokka both turn startled eyes on him. “The Avatar?” says Sokka. “He knew Gran-Gran?”

“Yeah. So I guess you’re connected in more ways than one.”

Katara shuffles herself into a comfortable position on her bed of furs, crossing her legs and closing her eyes. Meditation isn’t something waterbenders typically do-- the fluid movement of waterbending itself is usually focusing and calming enough-- but she knows the general principles. 

She breathes deeply, trying to clear her mind. In, out. In, out. (Doubt-- She sweeps it away.)

She sits this way for perhaps an hour and a half before giving up in frustration.

Avatar Aang. 

Katara wishes now that she had made it back to the Southern Water Tribe, even if only briefly, so she could ask Gran-Gran about him. She’s supposed to “look within herself,” but Katara doesn’t know what that _means._

She yawns and allows herself to slump backwards. She’s too tired to think anymore. Tomorrow, maybe, will be better.

_She stands atop a high, bare cliff. There are clouds all around her. A gentle breeze flutters her hair._

_“Katara.”_

_She turns._

_The man is tall and dressed in airbender robes. His beard is white, and his grey eyes seem to sparkle with happiness as they look at each other. “I’m Avatar Aang. It’s good to finally meet you.”_

_“Avatar Aang.” Katara swallows. “What do I have to do? I want to help the world, but it’s so-- there’s so much suffering, and I worry that I can’t stop all of it.”_

_“The Avatar isn’t perfect, and we can’t solve every problem. But I have faith in you.”_

_Katara feels oddly comforted._

_“First you have to master the elements. After that, you’ll have to confront the Northern Fire Nation. Only the Avatar can put a stop to whatever their plans are with the other benders and end the Civil War.” Aang’s expression saddens. “After all, it was with the attack on the Air Temples-- on me-- that the Civil War started in the first place.”_

_“I will. I’ll stop it.” Katara clenches her fists._

_“I know you will. I believe in you, Katara.” Wisps of fog flit between them. “And don’t forget--” He winces. “--I’ll always be here to help. You only have to look for me.” The fog obscures him from view, leaving only his voice ringing in Katara’s head before she falls back into a dreamless sleep._

“Hey.”

Sokka looks up from scratching Druk’s neck. “Hey.”

Zuko glances at the wall. “So how did getting rid of that guy go?”

“Oh. Well, we kind of got upstaged by Katara and your uncle and everyone.”

“What happened?”

“Super long story.” Sokka flops onto the pile of furs, putting his hands behind his head. “Okay, so after we left you guys, we went up the river, and then we snuck up here in this guy’s life raft. And we had to get past the wall, but there was no way we’d be able to get past the gate. And so then we...”

Zuko sits and allows Druk to climb into his lap, allowing the story to wash over him, keeping him grounded despite the mayhem of the day. Zuko has now accomplished what he set out to do, so why does he still feel so empty, so incompetent? Why does he still feel… like himself?

Sokka nudges him in the side with his foot. “I’m glad you’re back, Zuko.”

“Me too.” 

Sokka sighs up at the ceiling, and Zuko finds himself fascinated by him for a moment: the contemplation in his eyes and the set of his mouth, the way his ponytail fans out a little ridiculously behind his head-- this person who has become so dear to Zuko in the past months.

“I guess we’re Avatar trainers now, or something.” Sokka’s words are resigned, but he sounds almost peaceful.

“I guess.”

Maybe Zuko was pining a little.


	13. Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara starts firebending training and Sokka and Zuko run into a problem catching fish.

“A friend of mine happens to know an extremely talented earthbender who might be willing to teach you,” Iroh says about a week after Katara’s emotional outburst. The damage has been mostly repaired, but any mention still causes Katara to duck her head in embarrassment.

Iroh continues, “While we are firebending, we can travel south. But now that the Northern Fire Nation knows that the Avatar is back, we should probably avoid the major waterways and travel by land.” He traces a finger down the proposed path on the map: they will travel on the west side of the Northern River, staying inland and crossing the many peninsulas of the western Earth Kingdom southwards.

“That sounds like a good plan,” says Sokka. “And while we’re traveling, we can also gauge how much the kidnappers are still involved in the Earth Kingdom, and Katara will have _lots_ of time to practice firebending.”

“‘Lots’?” Katara quirks an eyebrow.

“You’ll be facing the most talented firebenders on the planet, and people whose powers we don’t even know yet. Trust me, you’ll need the practice,” says Zuko.

“Not exactly feeling the encouragement, guys.” 

“Look on the bright side,” says Suki. “It could be them teaching you.”

“If that happened, ‘lots’ of time wouldn’t be anywhere near enough,” Katara shoots back with a grin.

“Okay, can we focus?” Sokka taps the map. “We have a plan and we need to lay low. The sooner we get going, the better.”

_Katara glances down from the promontory on which she finds herself standing. Clouds soak the ground below._

_“Part of being the Avatar is knowing the importance of compromise,” says Aang standing beside her, and the symbols of the four nations float through Katara’s mind even as she looks up at him. “Every Avatar is connected to each nation, but the Avatar will only have been born in one. It’s important to consider the perspectives of others in order to choose the path that will bring the world the most harmony.”_

_“I understand,” says Katara, by now used to these abrupt micro lessons._

_“By the way, I mostly used this an an airbender, but it still applies.” Aang laughs in embarrassment. “It’s difficult to remove yourself from earthly concerns if you’re mired in arguments all the time.”_

_“Why can’t I talk to you? The only time we talk is when I’m dreaming. My meditation isn’t working.”_

_“It is working, Katara. If you didn’t know you were the Avatar, if you weren’t looking for me, I couldn’t even talk to you here. You have to look deep within yourself. If you can do that, I’ll be there for you to talk to whenever you want. But until then, or the winter solstice, to give you advice I’ll just have to keep jumping in...”_

Katara blinks and opens her eyes to find the rough ceiling of her tent. She feels instantly annoyed and wiggles out of her sleeping bag, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, wincing a little at the cold air that envelops her. She’s been trying nonstop for a week, and still meditation yields nothing.

Suki’s katana clatters to the ground, and she pants as she bends to pick it up. “In my defense, I am usually fighting with fans.”

“Three out of five?” says Zuko.

“I think I’m gonna take a break. You guys can battle it out.”

Zuko turns to Sokka, who has been sprawled out on the ground watching them, but Sokka’s frown is directed towards the other side of the clearing. Zuko follows his gaze.

There squats Katara, breathing carefully in and out with her eyes closed, and Iroh, sitting opposite. 

“Feel out the source of your energy. Harness your inner fire to your bending,” Iroh says.

“Still nothing, huh?” Suki whispers.

“Nope.” Sokka turns to them. “Katara mastered waterbending when she was like, eleven. You have no idea how weird it is to see her not get a bending thing.” 

They all shuffle a little closer. A muscle is jumping in Katara’s jaw. “I have this,” she mutters to herself. She takes a deep breath. “I just have to breathe… feel the energy…” 

“Good,” says Iroh encouragingly. “Let’s try igniting the leaf again.”

“Is this how you were taught?” Suki whispers.

Zuko thinks back to the relentless drilling of his palace tutors and the shame of being outshone by Azula at the foot of Azulon’s throne. “Not exactly. My original teachers were a lot harsher. But this is gentle even for Uncle.”

Katara stares hard at the leaf, biting her lip as the middle of it crackles and smokes with Iroh’s starter flame.

“You got this, Katara!” Sokka calls.

“Water is the opposite element of fire. This couldn’t be any harder for her.” Zuko folds his arms and tries not to enjoy the sensation of finally being the more talented firebender in the room.

The flame of the leaf fizzles out, and Katara releases a forceful huff. 

“Remember, fire will not yield as easily as water,” says Iroh, rubbing the leaf between finger and thumb. It glows to life again. “There’s no need to be afraid of it, but it has its own will and its own life. To use it, you must tap into your own energy, your own passion, and move with it, rather than commanding it.”

Three more rounds of unsuccessful leaf burning have Katara clearly frustrated and returning instead to the breathing and squatting exercises that have made up the bulk of the day. 

“Why don’t we take a break?” suggests Iroh. “We should start thinking about dinner anyway.”

Katara stands with a sigh and walks over to them. She plops down on a log despondently and looks at Druk, curled up in the bright sunlight. “How do you do it, Druk? I’m sure you’ve never done those breathing exercises.”

“Don’t get discouraged,” says Iroh, approaching. “It’s harder than it looks, even for someone who’s not a waterbender.”

Sokka pokes through their food supplies. “We still have some seal jerky left over. But honestly, with all these streams around here, maybe we should go fishing.”

“You can go,” says Katara with a sigh. “I think I’ll stay here.” She puts her chin in her hands, a scowl forming. “Even if I master the elements, how am I going to deal with the way the Northern Fire Nation blocked my bending? They did it without even touching me.” She clenches her fist. “I _have_ to be able to defeat them.”

“You could learn more non-bending styles,” suggests Suki. “In fact, I could teach you!”

“Really?”

Sokka looks wounded. “You never wanted to learn boomerangs! Or sword-fighting!”

“Well, I can’t do much now without a boomerang or a sword, Sokka. Hand-to-hand is just the most reasonable choice.”

“Okay, well, I guess _I’ll_ go fishing, then.” Sokka stands, having gathered their fishing line. “You coming, Zuko?”

Unwilling to be extraneous yet again, Zuko follows.

Druk follows them to the banks. They settle down on a spot thick with sweet-smelling grasses, dappled here and there by tiny yellow wildflowers. The stream babbles gently.

Sokka leans back on one hand, leaning the fishing pole against his knee. “Yep.”

“Nice place.”

“Yeah. Really pretty.” 

They sit quietly for some time. 

Sokka offers Zuko the pole. “You wanna try?”

“No. I’d probably just mess it up.”

Sokka raises his eyebrows. “What? Nah, you wouldn’t. Sometimes it just takes a while to catch a fish.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Are you, like… okay?” 

Zuko glances at him to find Sokka giving him his full, concerned attention, and Zuko ducks his head a little in embarrassment. “I found the Avatar,” Zuko begins. He stares down at the rocks below, at the way they seem to glitter and bob under the clear water of the stream. “But I don’t feel any better. Or like I’ve done anything.”

“But you did, though.”

“But I still feel…” Zuko leaves his palms spread wide in emphasis as he searches for the right word. “... shitty. Like I haven’t done enough, to make up for… everything.”

“Oh. Well, what more could you do?”

“I don’t know.”

Sokka’s silent for a minute, and then he says, “Honestly, from where I’m standing, you’ve done more than enough. But I get it. Sometimes I feel like that too. I came all this way to help Katara, and now she doesn’t even need me anymore. I keep trying to make people believe I can take care of things, but sometimes it doesn’t work out.” He pauses, and then he offers Zuko the fishing rod again. “But at least we can provide dinner, right? While we figure out the rest of the stuff. We don’t have to think about it now.” He sounds as if he’s also trying to convince himself.

Zuko takes the fishing rod.

Sokka falls asleep with his head on Zuko’s shoulder, and the combination of his and Druk’s warmth bracketing Zuko on either side, as well as the steady babbling of the stream, lulls Zuko into a nearly meditative state. He gazes down at the water for hours, hardly noticing the red sheen of sunset that grows on it until he hears someone calling his name.

He blinks and straightens, causing Sokka to nearly slide off his shoulder.

“Zuko?” Iroh comes into view down the bank. “The sun’s setting.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle. We lost track of time.” He elbows Sokka gently to wake him up.

They set off as the sun dips below the horizon, Sokka yawning. “Did you catch any fish?”

“No.”

The next morning they move on slightly south in the morning before continuing Katara’s firebending lessons. Sokka and Zuko go fishing again.

“This is just ridiculous,” says Sokka after a few hours. “We should have caught something by now.” He stands up and looks up and down the stream. “There’s gotta be a village around here somewhere.”

“There was one a little bit south on the map,” says Zuko. “Are you really going over there just to ask about the fishing?”

“Yep.” Sokka winds up the line. 

It takes them perhaps twenty minutes before they spot a collection of modest buildings through the trees. As they near the village, it becomes clear what the problem is: racks and racks of salted fish are visible drying outside. Generally a normal sight, but this seems a strangely large number of fish for a village of this size.

As they enter, the people they see stare at them balefully. Zuko’s spine prickles unpleasantly. 

“Hey, excuse me--” Sokka flags down a villager carrying a basket who speeds up when he sees them.

“Could you--” Sokka addresses a woman leaning against a doorway. 

She gives them a cold onceover and takes a step back inside, shutting the door with a snap. 

“What’s their deal?” Sokka whispers. 

Zuko shrugs.

“Anybody know any good fishing spots around here?” Sokka says loudly, tossing it out for anyone interested to pick up. No one does, and they are given a wide berth and several unkind looks.

Zuko steps in front of a young man hurrying by. “Hey. Did we do something wrong?”

The man pulls up short, face set. “We don’t want anyone from the tree village here.”

“What tree village?”

His frown falters. “Aren’t you from the group living in the forest?”

“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh.” He squints at Zuko strangely. “You look like you are. Sound like it too.”

Zuko clenches his teeth, pitches his voice lower. “We’re not.”

“All right, all right. We’re trying to starve them out so they’ll leave. That’s what all the fish is for.” 

“What did they do?” Sokka asks.

The man squirms a little. “They’re a bunch of anti-family vagabonds. They bring down the character of the whole area. We’ve tried to ask them to move somewhere else, but they just won’t leave.”

The stares of the villagers seem to lodge in Zuko’s back like thorns. 

“I mean, not that I think we should use violence against them,” he says uncomfortably. “That wouldn’t be acceptable. But I just don’t see why they have to make trouble like this. If they’d just settle down and act normal, we’d gladly welcome them all into the village.”

“How generous of you.” Sokka folds his arms and takes a step closer to Zuko, possibly to hide the note of doubt that enters his voice.

The man shrugs.

“Where are they?”

The man points northwards, into the forest. 

“Hey.”

They look up. 

Nestled high in the branches of the towering tree above them, a young man leans on his elbows at the side of a wooden platform. He gives them a lazy grin. “Friend or foe?”

“Depends who you are,” Sokka calls upwards. 

“Did you come to join us?”

“No. We came for fishing advice, actually.” 

“Don’t have much of that, I’m afraid.”

He withdraws and they hear the sound of whispers. A rope ladder lowers, and the young man and two others descend. The ladder is pulled up once the three have reached the bottom. 

“This is Longshot and Smellerbee,” the young man says, gesturing to his two silent companions. “And I’m Jet.”

“I’m Sokka, and this is Zuko. We’re traveling through the area, and we just came from the village.”

Longshot and Smellerbee share a dark look. 

“And?” says Jet.

“Why don’t they like you?”

Jet’s steady gaze examines first Sokka, then Zuko. “You already know, don’t you?”

Sokka shifts on his feet. “They said some things.”

Zuko’s chest feels cold, and the unlooked-for recognition in Jet’s gaze seems to coat him like a scent he can’t scrub off. 

“Look, we don’t bother them. It’s not our problem they don’t like us.”

“So what they’re doing with the fish doesn’t bother you?”

Jet watches them for a moment, and then gestures for them to follow him towards the tree. The rope ladder slithers back down. “Come on. I want to show you.”

They ascend to a dizzying height and step out onto a creaking wooden platform. From this angle, a dozen platforms are visible, half-hidden in the leaves. People wander nonchalantly across swinging rope bridges. Storage baskets crowd the highest of the platforms, where a few children can be seen sleeping, arms dangling through the slats of the low railings. 

“We built this,” says Jet, watching them as they gawk. “This isn’t the village’s land. We have every right to be here. And some of these kids didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Smellerbee pipes up, “A lot of us have been through hell. If they think they’re going to get us to leave just by stealing the fish, they’ve got another thing coming.” 

Longshot nods.

“What are you going to do?” Zuko croaks.

Jet shrugs, leaning against the railing. “Nothing, probably. Except piss them off by staying here.” He grins vindictively. “A long time ago, I might have done something drastic. But that was then.”

“Why do you stay?” The question feels tugged out of Zuko. 

“Why would we leave?” says Smellerbee.

Zuko does not have an answer.

Smellerbee continues over the sound of the leaves fluttering in the wind. “Maybe we don’t have to prove ourselves to them. Maybe _we’re good,_ family-less queers and all. Maybe they’re the ones who are wrong.” She folds her arms.

“How can you just-- say that?” blurts Zuko, stomach twisting into knots. The shame coats him like an oil, mixing poorly with his watery hope.

Sokka lightly touches Zuko’s trembling arm. “Sometimes it’s exhausting to do everything you can to play their game, and still they won’t accept your proof.”

Smellerbee looks Sokka in the eye emphatically. “Them accepting the proof isn’t the point. It’s pointless to try. There is no proof, and there doesn’t need to be, even if they want it.”

Jet wrinkles his nose sympathetically, and his voice is alarmingly merciful. “We’re not leaving.” He shrugs. “And about the fish… maybe try a few more miles downstream.”

“How dare that fucking bastard patronize us like that?” Zuko storms through the forest, Sokka hurrying in his wake. “Who does he think he is? He doesn’t know us. I don’t have to fucking take his--” His voice cracks, and he puts on a fresh burst of speed, stomping over the undergrowth. “He’s not better than me.”

“Nobody said he was.”

“Did you see the way he was talking to us? Like he knew better?” Zuko keeps his eyes forward, unwilling to take another look at the contemplative, shaken expression on Sokka’s face. “He definitely thinks it.” Zuko may burst into what he swears would be tears of fury. “He doesn’t know shit.”

“I don’t know.” Sokka’s voice is quiet. 

They forgot some of the tackle at the foot of the tree, but there’s no way they’re going back for it.

Zuko’s entire life has seemed just one big angry sore, and for the longest time he has been dedicated to mitigating the disgust looking at it causes others, feeling it to be his responsibility. Zuko knows by now Ozai was an asshole, he knows, but to accept this ridiculously simple proposition-- that maybe _Zuko is good_ \-- if that’s the case, then why… why would so many other people…

 _I want to believe people are good._

He doesn’t realize he’s said this aloud until Sokka murmurs, “I know.”

They stumble back into camp. The other three meet them with wide eyes.

“What happened to you guys?” Katara’s tone shrills with worry as they all hurry over. 

“Good news, actually.” Sokka drops onto a rock as if afraid he’ll collapse if he doesn’t. “We found you your first Avatar job.” 

Zuko stands with Druk clutched comfortingly to his chest while Jet and the village head’s conversation steadily increases in volume and mutual loathing. Katara watches the match, head swiveling back and forth as each man argues his case. The clearing, halfway between the treehouses and the village, is ringed with frowning, shuffling villagers on one side and the glaring, closely-knit youths of the treehouses on the other.

He catches Smellerbee glancing at him once. Zuko doesn’t want to be here. 

Katara’s expression is grim when they retreat some distance away. 

“Aang said that compromise and considering the perspectives of others are important.” Her voice quivers with rage. “But I can’t compromise here. The village is clearly in the wrong. And being the Avatar is about harmony, and getting rid of injustice. Right?” Katara chews her lip, something cold in her eyes. “I can’t compromise. But I think Aang will understand.”

No one argues with her.

She returns to the crowd.

“There’s enough fish here for everyone. The way you villagers have taken this away from the treehouses simply because you don’t like their ‘lifestyle’--” Her voice goes sharp with derision. “--is absolutely unacceptable. I can’t believe you would do something so disgustingly shameless and cruel.” She looks out over the crowd. “I won’t let you do anything to harm the treehouses. They have as much right to be here as any of you do.”

“Wow. That was pretty fierce,” Sokka mutters as they finally walk back to their camp. 

“I had to,” Katara says. “I can’t get rid of all the hurt in the world. So when I do it, I have to make sure it works.” She stares straight ahead. “I had to. They were causing other people harm.”

Zuko watches his feet. Sokka's shoulder bumps gently against his as they walk. The things Jet and Smellerbee said wink in and out like spots before his eyes. 

Who is Zuko supposed to be? 

Is Zuko supposed to be anyone?

They still haven’t caught their fish.


	14. The Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko run into a familiar face after getting arrested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bi Visibility Day everyone!

_“Hmm,” says Aang, rubbing his beard. “I don’t think I can help much with that one. I never learned firebending.”_

_“Would it be possible for me to talk to one of the other Avatars? I’m just so frustrated-- it’s been a week, and I keep trying to figure out my ‘inner fire,’ but I have all these emotions clogging up my mind and I just-- I’m afraid that--” Katara makes a wordless sound of frustration that echoes strangely in the rocky, breezy space. “I just can’t seem to do anything!”_

_“It’s okay to take a break too, you know,” says Aang gently. “I know you have to save the world, but you’ll work better if you’re being kind to yourself. And there’s no reason you can’t have some fun in the meantime! I think there’s some traditional firebending games they play in the Fire Nation. Maybe those would help.”_

_“Maybe,” agrees Katara with little conviction. “But…?”_

_“But…” Aang sighs. “Well, you should probably talk to Kyoshi or Kuruk, since they were the last non-Fire Nation Avatars who actually learned firebending.”_

_“Sounds good. How do I talk to them?”_

_A breeze blows up some sand in front of Katara, and the vision of an intimidatingly tall woman with stark white makeup takes Aang’s place._

_“Firebending requires power,” she says sternly. “Grip your inner passion tightly and strengthen your resolve. There is no way around it. You just have to do it.”_

“That’s not very helpful,” Katara mumbles into her pillow vaguely disapprovingly before her mind goes slack.

“That was good!” Suki pants. “Here, let me just… your stance needs to be a little…”

The map crinkles as Sokka lowers it to frown at them. “Aren’t you supposed to be learning firebending?”

“The Avatar has to be familiar with lots of different perspectives, including non-bending styles.” Katara slides her feet to a better position, her voice nervous, as Suki nods approvingly. “And I have to be able to fight if I get my bending taken away again.”

“Okay. But it kind of seems like you’re just avoiding it.”

“I’m not! Aang told me that taking breaks and having fun helps recharge your mind and abilities,” says Katara stiffly.

“Mm, is that true, Zuko?”

“Every master firebender that I know of gained their level of skill by being determined, consistent, and giving their training their all.”

“Well, you’re not the Avatar!” Katara sets her fists on her hips with a huff. “It’s different.”

“I don’t know, Katara. An actual firebender says it’s not, so.”

“Actually…” A devilish grin makes its way slowly onto Katara’s face. “Aang _also_ told me that there are traditional firebending games in the Fire Nation.”

“That’s true,” says Iroh, strolling into the camp. He starts ticking them off on his fingers. “There’s fire trap, fire-ball, the burning mango, fire fingers…” 

“What are all those?” says Sokka.

“Most of them involve a huge risk of getting burned.” Zuko crosses his arms.

“Well, I guess you are playing with fire.”

“How about it, Zuko? How about we try to play one of those?” Katara gives Zuko a sheepish smile. “We can be really careful, although you probably don’t need to worry about me firebending too much.”

“No,” says Zuko bluntly.

Katara blinks in surprise. 

“Every time I tried one of those, it went badly.” Zuko glares off to the side.

“Oh. Okay.” 

“If you want to try one, I can play with you,” says Iroh, smoothly redirecting the conversation even as he settles a fatherly hand briefly on Zuko’s shoulder.

Suki stretches a little and shrugs her tunic back on as she addresses Sokka and Zuko. “Do you guys still want to go to the farmer’s market in town?”

“Farmer’s market, no. Meat stalls, yes.” 

“You know what I mean.”

They trudge down the road leading to the nearest town. Sokka slows his pace, allowing Suki to walk ahead as he wanders closer to Zuko. 

“Zuko, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.” 

“Did you…” Sokka lowers his voice. “Did you get your scar from one of those games?”

Zuko’s expression goes pinched and sour. “No.”

“Oh.”

“But my sister and I used to play some of them. And they were horrible. Or at least they were the way she played them.”

“From what you’ve said, she sure doesn’t sound like the type to just let a game be a game.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

The farmer’s market takes up the greater part of one street. Wooden stalls line both sides, surrounded and covered by wobbling baskets of produce and signs written in red paint. The smell of frying foods is in the air. 

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” says Sokka brightly. 

They wander the stalls, peering over the crowd’s shoulders. As they stop to examine the produce of a cantaloupe stall, the conversation of the two other customers becomes clear.

“What?”

“Somebody else got attacked last night.”

“Again?!”

“Yeah, over on the west side, near the old smokehouse. They broke into a house and got a teenage girl. I heard she can’t even get out of bed. Same thing as happened to the others.”

“Hey, what’s that about attacks?” Sokka puts down the melon he had been weighing.

“Someone is attacking people at night and squeezing the life out of them,” the man says. “They’ve gotten three so far, and the magistrate can’t figure out who’s doing it.”

“You mean people are getting strangled to death?”

“No, they’re still alive and awake. They’re just weak and listless and… sick, I guess.” The man looks at his companion for help.

“Well, it’s very weird and creepy, whatever they’re doing,” says the woman with a little shudder. “One of the magistrate’s clerks visited the girl, I hear, but her family don’t want anyone else in.”

Sokka gives Suki and Zuko a meaningful glance once the man and the woman move away. 

“Guess we have another job for Katara,” sighs Suki.

“We should visit the clerk,” says Zuko.

“Yeah. We will. But first we’ve gotta get our stuff here.”

They wander along the row. “Hey, look, Zuko.” Sokka elbows him, pointing to a modest puppet show set up in the middle of the market as they pass. “But that’s probably not the kind of theater you used to go to, huh?” One thing Zuko has admitted was a bright spot, even in the Northern Fire Nation, was the plays his mother used to bring the family to.

“No.” But Zuko’s eyes follow the tiny stage as they pass. “It was always a big production. We weren’t really supposed to be wandering the streets like this.”

Sokka follows his nose along the row to the stalls selling warm food. He hasn’t tried half of these things before, and the hearty smell of steaming and frying meat and the enticing aroma of spices… he wilts a little at the thought of all the money they’ve spent on necessary things like rice and vegetables.

Suki leans into his field of vision, grinning and clutching a few chicken-pig feet. “Can’t decide?”

“There’s just too many choices! How’s that?”

Suki shrugs.

“Zuko, what do you thi-- Zuko?”

As Sokka thought he would be, Zuko is standing in front of the puppet show. His arms are crossed, but a small smile is on his face. 

Sokka walks up to stand next to him. 

“And then,” says the puppeteer, raising a white, rope like puppet, “she became so drunk that she turned back into a snake.”

The little crowd of cross-legged children oohs and laughs a little.

A meaty splat breaks the spell of performance as an overripe tomato hits the wood of the puppet stage. Juice drips down the front, and the puppeteer’s hands visibly jump in surprise.

Behind Sokka are a few sniggering teenage boys.

“Hey!” Zuko rounds on them. “What was that?”

One of them shrugs nonchalantly. “Sucks, man.”

Zuko glares at the boy for a solid ten seconds before turning slowly back to the front, where the performer has flicked the worst of the tomato off and is resuming the show. Zuko removes his swords from his back and holds them in front of him. 

Sokka catches his eye. Zuko shakes his head. 

Sokka thinks it would be extremely unlikely for Zuko to actually beat the hell out of a couple of asshole teenagers with swords, but what is he...

Another tomato comes flying in a minute later, and Zuko smoothly extends one sword, turning and flicking it back towards the boys. Much of the tomato splatters on impact, but the biggest chunks are flung backwards, right on target, and hit the thrower square in the chin.

“Hey!--” The boy flings another tomato at Zuko in retaliation, which he dodges, and it hits a man passing by behind instead. 

“You little fucking--” the man roars, picking up an apple-pear from the nearest stand and throwing it back, where it slams into the cheek of a woman across the way. 

It begins. 

Sokka and Zuko dodge the flying produce, much of it rotten and obviously chosen to make the biggest splash, and take shelter behind the puppet show booth.

“Did you do this?” the puppeteer hisses as a peach rolls past them in the dirt.

“No! I-- that kid was--” Zuko stops, embarrassment flashing across his face, apparently rethinking “He started it” as a viable excuse. 

“Maybe they won’t bother you next time,” says Sokka.

“More like they’ll target me even more,” the man mutters.

“Runners!” someone calls, and the group scatters, dealing a few abortive blows at each other as they run. The crowd murmurs. 

“We should--” Zuko starts.

Sokka begins to move toward a hasty exit, but pulls up short. “But-- ah-- I didn’t get to--” He is not leaving without some of that char siu stuff, at least, and he makes a hard detour back to the meat stalls.

To be fair to the runners, they let him take the meat into the cell.

“You couldn’t have gotten food before?” says Zuko sourly. 

“I was looking for you!” Sokka aggressively offers him the stick. “You want any?”

“No.”

“Besides, I’m not the one who got that guy with the tomato.”

“He deserved it.”

One of the runners enters with Suki. She pauses at the sight of them and shakes her head, a note of nerves in her voice. “So you really did get arrested. Look, I’m-- I’m going to go get the others.”

Here he goes, fucking it up again, muddying his case for competence. He rips off another strip of barbecue with his teeth and Jet and his gang come to mind. He’s not trying to fill the gaping hole in his soul where self-love should be with food. He’s not.

He tries some optimism: It’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Magistrates aren’t known for actually enforcing justice, per se. Perhaps this minor fuckup does not have to define his worth as a person?

After an hour, Katara enters with a conflicted look on her face, an aura of recent argument over her. “What were you doing?! Do you know how much of a pain it is for you to be in here?”

“In our defense, it really wasn’t that bad of an infraction,” says Sokka. “Frankly, I think the law should--”

“I can’t get you out,” Katara blurts. She glances away. “I tried-- not that you really deserve it-- but they won’t believe that I’m the Avatar.”

Suddenly her conflicted expression makes sense: poor Katara, unable to firebend a candle, can’t prove to the magistrate that she can bend more than one element. 

This why he pushes her to just go back to camp, continue training for the day-- not like he and Zuko need to be there for that anyway. One night in a cell isn’t going to hurt them.

The small window outside the cell lets in a dusty strip of light that migrates along the floor as the day passes.

“We forgot to tell her about the people getting attacked,” Sokka suddenly remembers.

“How long are we going to be in here?” Zuko thumps his head back against the wooden wall.

Sokka shrugs. “Who knows.”

Zuko pauses, and then mutters, “Uncle’s gonna be so disappointed.”

“I don’t think so. Your uncle seems like he’s never been disappointed in anyone his entire life.”

Sokka shuffles to find a more comfortable position against the unforgiving wall. “It is _cold_ in here.” There are two folded futons against the far wall, but they smell and look like they haven’t been aired out in months. 

Sokka takes the chance of sidling up next to Zuko, who releases a surprised breath before relaxing. Their shoulders and arms press warmly together. Sokka sort of wants to cling to him, but he’s not quite at the point where his pride can handle asking to cuddle for warmth, which would be the only reason he would propose cuddling. Obviously.

Some time later, he hovers at the edge of sleep, confused where he is. He doesn’t want to move from the patch of warmth his body heat has made on the floor, but at the same time there’s the sound of voices, and a strange clanging…? He slits his eyes open.

Zuko is kneeling near the bars, pale in the gloom and peering out into the hallway. A few shadowy people pass their cell and tramp back out as Sokka sits up slowly. Something slides off of him, and he glances down to find that he’s been sleeping under Zuko’s outer robe. 

Zuko glances at him. “They just brought someone else in.”

“Who is it?”

“I can’t tell in the dark. They looked out of it.”

Sokka listens. Slow, even breathing reaches his ears from their right.

Zuko sits back down next to Sokka, who sits up fully. 

“So the lock, any chance you could melt through it?” Sokka nods towards it.

A click sounds, and then a barely perceptible squeal of metal. They both freeze.

Heavy, shuffling steps. A dim outline pauses, swaying in front of their cell. A key ring dangles listlessly from one hand. 

Slowly, this hand comes up to grope at the lock of their cell. The lock clicks and the door begins to swing open. 

“Hey, what--” Sokka begins to whisper.

A step, a swoosh of clothing, and a breeze. He’s slammed back against the floor, making fireworks explode in his vision, and he tries to take a breath but _can’t,_ hands are squeezing around his windpipe and somehow, digging deep, deep inside him, he’s not just suffocating he’s being _siphoned out_ through his throat like the hands gripping him are a straw--

A blow knocks the hands off him. He hacks and coughs, air wheezing sweetly back into his lungs. His ears are ringing. 

“Sokka?!” Zuko’s face, wild, swims into his vision above him. “Are you okay?”

Sokka can only blink, tears leaking out. He tries to get his limbs to work but can only manage a vague tremble of his arms. 

From where his head is turned to his right, he sees someone else lying crumpled against the wall, making sleepy, disoriented sounds as they lever themselves up. “Wh… huh? Whas… Where’m…”

Sokka feels himself being lifted, and the next thing he knows Zuko has scooped him up and is darting out of the cell, blowing past the startled guards and their card game, ignoring their shouts.

“What just happened?” he rasps after several minutes of being jostled against Zuko’s chest as he runs down the forest trail.

“They just-- knocked you over and started strangling you-- and I think--” A loose strand of Zuko’s hair whips Sokka in the face as Zuko glances jerkily back over his shoulder. “--they might be following us.”

“Hey!” someone calls desperately. Their voice cuts through the forest silence. “I’m sorry! I didn’t-- look, I can help! At least let me-- let me fix things!”

Zuko doesn’t stop, and a minute later they burst into camp. 

Katara stands, tensed for battle at the sound of their approach, in the middle of the clearing. She straightens in surprise as Zuko pounds up to her. “Oh my-- what happened?!”

“Minor strangulation,” Sokka says hoarsely as Zuko gently sets him down. His limbs still feel like soggy rice. 

“They followed us.” Zuko turns back towards the path. “They were in a cell too, so I don’t think it was the magistrate.”

Katara kneels to examine Sokka’s neck quickly as Suki and Iroh scramble to their feet. 

Their pursuer crashes into the clearing, panting. Their features are hard to make out in the feeble light of the waning crescent moon. “I’m so sorry-- I’m sorry-- please-- let me--” They freeze at the sight of Suki, Zuko, and Iroh all facing them, tense and weapons drawn. They raise their hands slowly, Zuko’s outer robe dropping from one hand, the filched keys dropping from the other. “I’m sorry.”

“Move forward, slowly. Keep your hands up,” Suki orders, and they step hesitantly forward. 

Zuko bends a small flame in his palm to look at them, and they flinch. “Li Min?!”

“I’m so sorry,” they repeat brokenly.

“Is that any better?” Katara removes the water from Sokka’s neck, the glow fading. Druk, curled up next to him, snorts a jet of steam every time Li Min moves.

Sokka sits up a little and his vision swims. His neck aches. He slumps back down. “No.”

Katara rounds on Li Min, sitting curled up nearby. “What did you do to him?”

They stare at the ground. “I… it’s a long story.”

“We’ve got lots of time,” Zuko snaps. 

Li Min pauses as if thinking. “How much do you know about chi and spiritual energies?”

“Try me.” Katara crosses her arms. 

“I told you guys that I had a rough home life.” Li Min closes their eyes. “But that wasn’t the whole story. The truth is… I was… born into a group that was trying to gain immortality by manipulating chi. I was looking for a spirit because I thought they might know a way to get rid of the ability.”

“That’s a load of--” Zuko begins hotly, but he stops as Iroh puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Manipulating chi how?” Iroh asks evenly.

Li Min opens their eyes, but they stare down at their lap. “By taking it.” They roll up their upper sleeve to reveal a thick burn scar on their right arm. “This used to be the tattoo identifying us.” They drop the sleeve, their voice turning darker. “I left years ago, but the urge to do it is still there. The past few weeks I’ve been--” They swallow. “I’ve been waking up in people’s houses. I think I’m doing it in a trance state in my sleep. I’ve been waking up and able to stop myself from going too far each time, but--” Their eyes dart to Sokka. “But I can give it back, I swear! I’m so, so sorry. I can give it back.”

“So when you strangled me,” says Sokka, unable to resist a note of sardonicism, “you were-- what, sucking out my chi like a bowl of soup or something?”

Li Min’s voice is quiet. “Chi runs in paths through the body. There are seven chakras, places where chi is concentrated. And one of these is the throat.” They duck their head even further, hands trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

Sokka levers himself up shakily. “Can you give it back, then? Kind of not doing so hot here.”

Cautiously, Li Min shuffles over, and Katara bends two precautionary loops of water around their wrists. 

Sokka stares at the sky, clenching his jaw, as he feels Li Min’s hands settle on his throat again. Zuko hovers on his other side. 

Warmth suffuses the area, and he jerks involuntarily. Suddenly he feels buzzed on adrenaline right to the tips of his fingers and toes. His heart is pounding as if in the middle of a long run. 

As soon as Li Min takes their hands away, he bolts to his feet. 

“Did it work?” says Iroh.

“I feel like I’ll explode if I sit down any longer.” He begins pacing immediately. “So I guess so.”

“I might have overdone it a little bit,” says Li Min contritely. 

“Doesn’t matter. I'm okay.” He paces a little faster. 

Li Min’s shoulders slump.

Sokka’s mind is racing. The stealing of chi? “Can you do that from a distance?”

“Sort of.” Their gaze goes out of focus, looking at something Sokka can’t see. “A person’s chi is mostly in their body, but small threads escape. I could grab hold of them, but I can’t take any chi without physical contact.”

“So could this thread-grabbing theoretically, I don’t know-- block bending?”

Li Min looks at him dolefully. “Have you run into others?”

“That’s an understatement,” says Zuko darkly.

Katara kneels down next to Li Min. “What can you tell us about them?”


	15. Breakthroughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team digests Li Min's explanations as they reach Katara's new earthbending teacher.

Zuko starts up a fire before returning to stand next to Sokka, who is pacing, as the others sit-- pointlessly, maybe, but it feels necessary. 

He turns the information over in his mind even as Li Min talks on:

The last family to have kept the tens-of-thousands-of-years-old knowledge of energybending, a way to manipulate the life energies of living beings.

A bitterness at being left behind by history, which led to an obsession with their own preservation.

Five energybenders of Li Min’s family left, all working, apparently, with the Northern Fire Nation, hoping to aggrandize themselves and spread their ideals.

And years ago, Li Min’s flight from their mother, Arsai, and their recent commitment to the village’s jail after passing out in someone’s shed.

“Technically any bender should be able to learn it,” says Li Min softly some ways into their conversation. Their eyes flick to Katara. “Even and especially the Avatar.”

“I would never steal someone’s chi,” Katara says coldly.

“No, I didn’t mean-- of course not!” Li Min shrinks into themself a little. “I only meant-- well, I-- it doesn’t have to be lethal, or even harmful. Manipulating it, I mean.”

The crackling of the flames are the only sound in the wake of all of their confusion. 

“A lot of times in my family’s history, we-- they-- they used energybending to take away someone’s bending. Sometimes they would stop those who used their bending to harm people.” Li Min looks up, coming out of their shell a little in their seriousness. “My family’s abused it. They’re probably helping build an energybender army in the Northern Fire Nation right now. But you’re the Avatar. Maybe now, if you learn it-- you could stop the war without having to kill anyone.”

Zuko has to admit that this makes sense. “You might be right. A lot of the rhetoric the North uses centers on the superiority of firebending. If you were to take that away from Azulon--”

“But-- no, no,” Katara blurts. The firelight sets her expression of horror in sharp relief. “I couldn’t ever--” She stops and curls her arms in towards herself as if imagining someone ripping away her waterbending. “I can’t take away someone’s bending. I can’t take away part of a person’s self.”

Iroh, Suki, and Li Min’s heads turn back and forth with the flow of the argument.

“Even if it stops the Northern Fire Nation?” Sokka frowns at her. “Katara, if the North wins the Civil War they’ll go to the other nations next. We can’t afford to go easy on them.”

“No.” Katara shakes her head. “Taking someone’s bending from them-- it feels-- It feels wrong. I can’t take a part of someone.”

“It’s not as if he wouldn’t still be the same asshole without it,” Sokka remarks dryly.

“It’s not like that, Sokka!” Katara bursts out in frustration. “It’s not like I would be-- taking away a sword or a spear or some other kind of weapon-- it’s part of you.” She looks at her own palms as if visualizing all the times they’ve moved water at a thought. “My bending responds to the way I feel. Zuko, I’ve noticed that you sometimes make the fire move when you get emotional. It’s not just a weapon. It’d be like-- it’d be like taking one of his organs for my own gain and condemning him to just live without it.” She shivers. “What did it feel like to you, being energybent? Because it sounds horrible to me. I can’t take a piece of him away like that. It’s wrong.”

“If you can’t do it, you might need to kill him anyway,” says Zuko quietly, but a creeping discomfort follows her words and he knows the fight has gone out of him..

Katara clenches her jaw. “I’ll find another way. Haven’t you ever felt that your body is no longer yours? That somebody else made it into something that serves them more than you? I won’t do that to someone else. I won’t take away their autonomy like that. I won’t. Even if it’s useful.”

“Have _I_ ever--?” Sokka begins, sounding outraged. 

“I won’t do it,” Katara says firmly, crossing her arms. “There’s other ways.” She looks at Li Min. “What are they planning? Why are they kidnapping benders?”

“I don’t know. If they wanted to drain chi, a non-bender would be just the same.” Li Min pauses awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” they say quietly. “If you ever change your mind…”

“Thank you. But I won’t.”

Would Zuko even be able to take Azulon’s bending away if he could? He might freeze on the spot. He glances at his uncle, who wears a solemnly thoughtful expression but says nothing. 

Zuko decides to follow his lead.

After hours of talking, Li Min gratefully gulps down tea while the rest of them slump next to the fire, overwhelmed. 

After Katara thoroughly examines Sokka and declares him sufficiently un-chi-drained, they all agree to get some rest and figure out how to return the stolen chi to the other victims in the morning. Katara insists on personally guarding Li Min all night to make sure they don’t attempt to steal anyone’s chi again, and Li Min does not put up the slightest protest.

Sokka wanders away to pace into the trees as the others unroll their bedrolls, seemingly unable to keep still.

Zuko follows him. “Are you really okay?” 

Sokka stops to look at him in surprise, face vaguely illuminated by the moon. “As far as I know. I feel fine. Just restless.” He shakes his hands out. “This could really change things in a battle. I feel like I could run from here to the South Pole. You know. If there wasn’t water.”

“Okay.” 

Sokka gives him a considering look and then smiles. “I’ll be fine, Zuko. I’ll probably just pace for a while. You go to sleep.” He takes hold of Zuko’s wrist lightly, holds it for a second, and then awkwardly lets his fingers slide away.

Zuko turns away, his face burning.

The sharp nip of the late summer wind, cool this far north, swooshes through the camp, stirring the fur lining of Zuko’s borrowed Northern Water Tribe bedroll. He is on his side, watching as the sky slowly lightens. Sokka did eventually return and go to sleep, to Zuko’s relief. But Zuko is not so lucky. Formless feelings have ricocheted around his mind all night.

But it seems Zuko was not the only one who had trouble sleeping. Katara and Li Min have talked since the early hours of the morning, both of their voices carrying far from the next clearing in the stillness of early morning. Zuko has listened.

“I’ve… hurt people,” says Li Min quietly. “I want to fix it, but even if I can, I worry that the bad goes right down to the bone.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that.” During their conversation, Katara has hovered at various points along the spectrum of forgiving to suspicious. She has settled on cautious sympathy, clearly still miffed at Li Min strangling Sokka. A tree rustles as she plucks another leaf, restless in her firebending practice. “For what it’s worth, you seem far from evil to me. You want to help the people you’ve hurt. That means something. And besides, when you drained chi from those people it was an accident.”

“Thanks.” Li Min sounds exhausted.

“I promise, your mother and the others aren’t going to get away with what they’re doing.”

“That’s a very nice thing to say.”

“It’s not just that. It’s the truth. I have to have hope that we can stop them.”

Li Min laughs a little. “It’s refreshing to hear someone talk like that. With my family, it’s all doom and gloom about what you have to sacrifice to keep their way of life alive.” They pause and say wistfully, “It gets so lonely, and I didn’t even realize how bad everything was until I left.”

Zuko rises and approaches them, rounding the tree line. The first rays of sun peek over the treetops, lancing into the clearing. Zuko finally speaks up about the question that has been plaguing him all night. “Speaking of loneliness, what happened to Jin?”

Katara gasps a little before frowning as the two of them whirl to look at him. “You scared me,” she mutters reproachfully.

But Li Min only looks ashamed. “She’s fine! Nothing happened to her. I went with her back to her home village. We wanted to stay in touch, and I didn’t have anywhere else I needed to be, but I couldn’t stay there. Not until I figured out how to get rid of… all this. I’d hoped that-- well, after I did that, I could-- come back.” They study their shoes. “I think we had something, and I’d tell her the truth-- but only after...” A note of longing enters their voice, and they shrug.

“There must be a way to get you to stop stealing chi from people in your sleep.” Katara’s voice is thoughtful. “In fact, in the Southern Water Tribe where I’m from, waterbending healers have been working on techniques to help settle the mind. Maybe that would help you.” There’s a rustle and a snap as Katara pulls another leaf, the first dripping, its internal water vessels only ruptured through accidental waterbending for Katara’s efforts. 

“Maybe.” Li Min sounds miserable. “I do want to stop hurting people.”

“I know you can,” Katara insists. She turns her attention briefly to the leaf and gasps loudly, and Zuko tenses instinctively. But Katara is only staring at a small curl of smoke rising from the leaf. 

“I did it,” says Katara, hushed. “I did it!”

Zuko rushes over to look at the lightly singed leaf even as the smoke blows away. Katara frowns at it and it blossoms into flame at the edge. 

The rising sun bathes their faces in reddish, optimistic light. Katara manages to keep the leaf burning until it crumbles to ash, her face brightening all the while.

“Now let’s go give that chi back,” says Katara firmly, dusting off her hands. 

They wake up the others and update them on the newest developments. The whole expedition takes a few hours, most of which consists of convincing the families of the victims to let them help. 

Li Min follows meekly in Katara’s wake, saying little, but each time they restore chi to someone they sigh in relief-- and yet, they never truly untense. 

After they have restored chi to all of the victims, Li Min pauses in the middle of the town square, trembling. A small crowd has gathered as they’ve healed the victims.

“What are you doing?” Suki hisses, but Li Min shakes their head. 

“This is fair,” they say quietly. “I hurt people, and I want to take responsibility.”

“But we fixed everything,” Sokka says quickly, stepping up to them. “They’re all fine. _I’m_ fine. It was fucked up, yeah, but--”

“If I don’t confess, they’ll worry that the attacker is still out there.”

“And what’s to stop you from doing it again? You think they’d know how to heal you or whatever? You broke out of prison just last night, in your sleep.”

Li Min pauses, conflict clear on their face.

“I think what’s best for everyone,” says Katara quietly, “is if you leave and get some help. There’s nothing to stop you coming back to apologize later. But if you stay, more people will be in danger.”

“Okay,” they say after a moment. And then, more strongly, “I will.”

The seven of them continue south, Katara with smiling eyes and sure steps the whole way. It is clear that the day’s successes have galvanized her, and she insists on beginning further firebending training the moment they stop for lunch. 

“Katara’s right about the healers in the Southern Water Tribe,” says Sokka to Li Min as they all sit munching and watching Katara glide through katas. “The North isn’t exactly the most stable right now, so the South is your best bet for healing. And someone there would be able to keep an eye on you. No offense.”

“None taken,” sighs Li Min. “But would you really want me there?”

“Well, you’ve gotta go somewhere. And besides, you’d be safer there than anywhere else right now. The Northern Fire Nation has never tried anything there.”

Some scrounging around in their supplies produces some spare paper, upon which Sokka writes his explanatory letter, and a candle, which he uses to seal the scroll, shoving the pendant of the chief’s house into the drying wax to mark it.

Li Min departs with many stammered thanks, setting off at a jog directly southwards.

Zuko watches and hopes for them.

Katara advances in firebending _fast._ Dark bags begin to form under her eyes, and she takes to meditating instead of sleeping. Upon Iroh’s nagging, they stop walking early one evening and she finally acquiesces to some calming tea and is out before sundown. Every so often Sokka wanders over to check on her, but she doesn’t stir.

But at sunrise the next morning, Zuko wakes to find her bright-eyed and running through firebending forms, and the minute she sees his eyes open she stops, approaches, and crouches down. 

“Good morning, Zuko. Would you be willing to spar with me? Please?”

Zuko squints groggily. “What-- why?”

“I think I’m ready for a real firebending fight. I want to improve.”

Katara firebends with focused determination. Every fire-whip is well-formed and swift, every kick energetic and precise. One of her fire-balls nearly singes the hair off his arms. Zuko demonstrates a few of the more complicated moves, and Katara watches intensely.

Eventually they pause, and Katara rubs her legs, wincing. 

“Are you injured?” says Zuko.

“No, it just uses different muscles than waterbending.” Katara stretches a little. “Thank you, by the way.” 

“Yeah.” She’s going to be an extremely competent Avatar. 

“Excellent work, both of you.”

Zuko and Katara turn to see Iroh watching with a smile.

“To ease the burden on your muscles, I suggest shifting your stance this way…” Iroh steps in to demonstrate for Katara.

Zuko steps away to give them room to work. He walks back to their sleeping area, where Sokka and Suki have been watching while waiting for their pot of rice to cook. Sokka turns his gaze away quickly, but Suki remains watching as Iroh teaches Katara, her head slightly tilted. Druk is a long lump in Zuko’s abandoned sleeping bag.

“Zuko," says Sokka. “Thanks for helping her.” 

Zuko nods.

At least he has something he can give. 

They continue southwards and westwards, advancing ever closer to Iroh’s earthbending contact. The contact resides in the city of Gim, east of the sea, west of the Great Divide.

The days start to pass quickly in a haze of sparring and walking, sleeping and rising. They run into no more trouble on the way, of which Zuko can’t help being suspicious. Bits stand out: the look of shock and glee on Katara’s face when she beats him for the first time, hightailing it with Sokka out of the way of a murder of boar-crows when Druk got into one of their nests, Iroh’s insistence on a pause to listen to the tail edges of a village tsungi horn concert, Suki trying futilely to teach Druk to swim.

When Zuko listens to Sokka sigh as they reluctantly scrub the breakfast dishes with warm water, their elbows bumping, a sudden pain hits Zuko in the chest as he realizes he likes being around these people, and perhaps they like being around him. 

He blinks as Sokka elbows him. “Zuko. You all right, man?”

Zuko returns to scrubbing. “Just thinking.” He likes being here, like this. The thought of the two of them parting ways permanently after all this is over causes some part of him to scream.

“About what?” The dishes clink.

“Where we’re going.”

_About you. About everyone, but also about you._

Some days are better than others. Grudging tolerance is sometimes the best he can manage for himself.

But at least tolerance is better than hatred.

A week and a half puts them in chaparral country, shrubby and blue-skied. The number of travelers they encounter increases with the heat and the width of the road. Zuko begins to realize that they are heading towards the hills, not staying in the valley through which they have been walking, and that they still see only simple farmhouses few and far between.

“Uncle, what kind of city is this?” He falls back to talk to Iroh. 

“An earthbender’s paradise,” says Iroh with a grin. “I’m not surprised they ended up here. But I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” 

The crowd of walkers begins to bottleneck as they ascend a slope, and they all pause on the road, craning their necks to see ahead as their pace slows.

As they round a shoulder of the hills, a gaping black maw looms ahead of them. A massive tunnel has been carved into the earth, tall enough for several sky bison to stand end on end. Two earthen watchtowers stand at either side of the entrance, complementing the pairs of guards who stand on the ground at either side.

The talk of the crowd echoes in the tunnel, and Zuko’s eyes take a minute to adjust to the torches providing the only light. The scent of earth pervades everything. They emerge on the other side.

A flight of stairs descends into the distance, leading out to a space so vast that it looks more like the surface at night than a cave. Faceted stones and gold glitter near the distant ceiling, where pinprick shafts of feeble light brush the ground. The glow of thousands of lanterns illuminates the regal sprawl of a stone city. 

Zuko hears several exclamations of wonder as they begin to descend the stairs, unable to keep glancing up at the city.

“Now I understand why there was so much traffic,” Sokka mutters.

Iroh leads the way through the crowds on the main boulevard, which bustles with vendors and noise the same way as any city on the surface. They break out onto less and less busy streets, where Iroh eventually knocks at the door of a tall, rectangular house. 

The door opens. “What’s up, old man?”

“Toph?” Sokka blurts incredulously.

“Huh? Wait, why are you here?” Toph cocks her head. “Wait-- don’t tell me one of you two is the Avatar.”

“No--”

“May we come in?” says Iroh.

“Yeah, yeah.” Toph motions them in and closes the door. The entire floor is covered with a large sheet of striped canvas. “Tomoe!” she yells. “Avatar’s here!” She turns back to them. “So it’s Iroh; you two chucklefucks; the dragon who owns you; and I don’t know the other two of you. I’m Toph. I’m the master earthbender around here.”

Suki introduces herself to Toph as Tomoe comes grinning into the room, advancing to clap Iroh on the shoulder. “I’m glad you made it.” She nods to Sokka and Zuko, and pats Druk’s head. “My, you’ve gotten big. Good to see you again, boys.”

“You’re part of the White Lotus?” Zuko’s not sure whether to feel betrayed.

“Afraid so.” She quirks her mouth wryly. “Didn’t realize you were the famous nephew until you’d already gone. But it all works out, doesn’t it?” She scans the group, meeting Katara’s gaze. “So this is the Avatar.”

“I’m Katara.”

“Tomoe. Pleasure.”

Zuko and Sokka briefly catch Toph up on how they found Katara.

“Are you rebuilding the circus?” Zuko looks around at the scattered objects and canvas pieces, hearing the pounding of energetic feet upstairs. 

“Yeah, as much as we can. But if you wanted earthbending training, you’ve come to the right place.” 

“Thank you for agreeing to teach me. When can we start?” Katara turns to Toph from Tomoe.

Toph cracks her knuckles. “Let’s step outside. We’ll go to the edge of the city, where there’s some bigger boulders.”

“Hey!” Sokka pokes his head out the door after them. “Don’t do anything crazy to my sister.”

Toph waves a hand without turning back to him. “Don’t worry your little head, Splats. She’ll be fine.”

“What?! ‘Splats’?!”

“You know, ‘cause of how you crashed that party.” Toph imitates the whistling of a fall and a crashing noise. They turn the corner and are lost from sight.

* * *

The Avatar has definitely been here. 

There’s no need to even threaten the villagers. They easily wax poetic about the way the Avatar glided in, healed the sick, and left. They don’t even think about who they might be talking to.

The Avatar proved she knew waterbending and firebending here. She’s in the Earth Kingdom and heading south, probably to find an earthbending teacher. And luckily, in this area the most skilled earthbenders are all in one place.

A small, anticipatory smile.

It’s clear where she’s going.


	16. Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang receives an unwelcome visitor while Toph teaches Katara earthbending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I have IRL obligations coming up, so next week's chapter may be delayed to Tuesday or Wednesday instead of the usual Monday. Thanks for understanding!

A routine forms: Katara trots out with Toph at dawn to earthbend, returning mid-morning to practice on her own while Toph takes care of circus business. Katara then practices firebending, often with Iroh or sparring with Zuko, until Toph returns for another evening session. The circus house often gathers an audience; news of the Avatar, as well as Toph’s fame as a metalbender among the many earthbenders of the city, generate interest. The rest of them find themselves mapping out their next steps, helping the circus where they can, and speculating uselessly on what the Northern Fire Nation’s plan is.

Their best bet so far is that the Northern Fire Nation views benders as the most powerful assets of the other nations and is therefore taking them, or that they have achieved some kind of advanced brainwashing technique that would enable them to train kidnapped benders as their own. But as far as they know, the numbers of victims are too few for either of these to be an easy answer. Zuko knows his grandfather, and this kind of underhanded blow meant to prove a point, meant to prove the superiority of the Fire Nation, is entirely characteristic of him-- but then, why do it in secret? Is he planning to reveal it after reuniting the Fire Nation when he can better turn his attention to the rest of the world? 

Zuko ponders this as he descends the stairs one morning, the entire house already bustling. A performer pounds down the stairs and leans over the railing beside him. 

“Toph, the main water pump on the east side got bent out of whack,” he pants. “Totally down. They could really use your help with metalbending. And, you know-- play our cards right and we might get a little something out of it--” 

“Okay, okay,” says Toph. “Katara, you go on and start practicing. I’ll be there as soon as I take care of this.”

The flow of people within the house resumes, and Zuko manages to squeeze into the kitchen, where he finds Sokka tucked in a free corner eating rice and looking like it’s an effort to keep his eyes open. He wordlessly offers Zuko another bowl, which he has kept tucked into the crook of his arm.

The simple gesture, the thought behind it, may make him Feel Things, sure, but Zuko has great practice in lying to himself. Zuko accepts the bowl and bats Druk’s snout away. “Where’re Suki and my uncle?”

“In-- in the back.” Sokka interrupts himself with a yawn. “They’re watching the acrobats practice.” 

They squeeze closer together in the corner as a couple performers waddle through with a large box. 

“Let’s go outside,” Sokka mumbles.

In front of the house they find Ty Lee and Mai speaking quietly to each other. 

“Oh. Sorry,” says Sokka as the women look at them, startled. 

“Hmm.” Ty Lee shrugs, characteristic smile on her face. “Crowded, huh?”

Druk snuffles behind the decorative statues next to someone’s door and Zuko lunges forward to grab one before it can hit the ground. 

“Be more careful, would you?” he grumbles.

Druk glances at him nonchalantly and continues on his way, Zuko, Sokka, Ty Lee, and Mai trailing along after him on a mid-morning walk to escape the clamor of the circus house. 

“I still can’t believe how big he’s gotten,” coos Ty Lee. “He’s _so cute.”_

“It’s less cute when you’re carrying him all the time,” says Sokka. 

“I’d carry him all day if that was the only way I could get some time out of that house. We’re all so cramped in there!”

“Yeah, you guys strained it to the breaking point,” admits Mai.

Something in her voice causes something to click for Zuko. “Does it, uh, bother you to have me and my uncle here, as a reminder of the Fire Nation?”

“No!” protests Ty Lee in a flurry.

“Well, there’s no point in lying to you,” says Mai.

“Sorry.” He glances away at the people passing by: young, old, dressed in varying fashions and shades of green and brown, talking, laughing, walking, selling.

Mai shrugs. “Things happen. It was stupid of us to think we could run away forever.”

“Aw, it’s not all bad,” protests Ty Lee. “After all, you brought this cutie with you!” She pets Druk. 

In his watching, a movement catches his eye, and Zuko glances up ahead of him to see a glimpse of a pale cheek turning casually away from his line of sight. A sense of vague urgency takes him-- someone familiar? As he watches, they earthbend a ball of earth up from the ground and toss it from hand to hand as they move with the crowd slowly towards a left-turning street. Zuko grasps fruitlessly at the sentiment, feeling that he has just been reminded of something important, but there’s nothing there for his mind to grab onto.

Zuko looks away.

“You see something?” mutters Sokka. 

Zuko hadn’t realized he was watching him. “No. I just thought someone seemed familiar-- but it’s nothing.”

Sokka frowns. 

They continue down the streets. 

“Hey,” Sokka says abruptly. “How often does this water pump thing break down?”

“We’ve never seen it break before,” says Ty Lee with a shrug.

“But we’ve only been here for two months,” says Mai.

Sokka glances around them suspiciously. 

“What is it?” says Zuko. Druk cocks his head.

“Okay, I might just be being paranoid. But the water pump’s down. Which means Toph is on the other side of town from Katara. And now you see someone you think looks familiar. What if someone is trying to get Katara alone?”

Ty Lee shivers. “You mean-- the Northern Fire Nation?”

“It’s just a feeling,” says Sokka. “Can you guys go get Toph? We’ll go check on Katara.”

“If we must,” says Mai, but they set off speed-walking more than is strictly necessary.

The streets become wider and less populated and the rocks become more numerous as they jog to the west side of the city. Startled homeowners tending to their rock gardens stare at them as they hurry past. 

“What did they look like?” Sokka pants.

“I didn’t get a good look at them. They were pale, and an earthbender-- I had a feeling, but I don’t know anyone like that other than Toph.”

“What feeling? Who did you think it was at first?”

They pass a few outlying houses, round the corner of a rock formation, and skid to a stop as the sound of rumbling reaches their ears. A wall of earth shoots up behind them, trapping them in. 

“You,” hisses Zuko.

Relaxing her stance, a smirk on her face, hood thrown back: Azula. 

Azula is exactly as Zuko would have expected her: her hair is more tightly bound, the loose side bangs of her childhood gone; she has grown several inches taller, and the baby fat has faded from her face; her red lipstick is in place as always. She is every bit the older version of the girl Zuko remembers. Her eyes flick to Druk, whose teeth are bared, but she says nothing.

Katara stands opposite Azula, teeth gritted with the effort of staying upright. Arsai stands to Azula’s left, fist in the familiar chi-blocking position, a scratch bleeding on her cheek-- clearly Katara managed to use some of what Suki taught her. An unfamiliar man with a grey topknot stands to Azula’s right. 

“Zuko, don’t tell me that’s--” Sokka begins.

“‘Zuko’?” Azula’s eyebrows scrunch in mirth. “That’s not my sister’s name.”

Pain ripples through Zuko, familiar and unwelcome, and he twitches. “Well, I’m not your sister.” His voice seems to come from someone else. He swallows, regains some composure. Losing his cool while up against Azula would be suicide. “That was you, in the street. You’re not an earthbender.” His eyes flick to the man on her right. “How did you--”

Azula moves smoothly into place, foot forward, arms bent and palms forward. A gust of wind kicks up and slams them back into the earth wall, Druk included. A strange prickling feeling is in the air, like a mild static shock that reaches deep into his bones. Whatever Azula is doing, it feels wholly unnatural.

“Right now, I’m whatever I want to be.” Azula lowers her arms. "Not that it's really any of your business."

“Fuck you,” Zuko spits, unable to manage anything more as his body aches and his breath wheezes, and unable to manage anything else mentally either. This-- this shouldn’t be possible. Only the Avatar can bend multiple elements, and they’ve proven that’s Katara. 

Azula clucks disapprovingly. “So hostile. And you wonder why Father didn’t want you around. Arsai?”

Arsai curls her other hand into the chi-blocking position, and Zuko feels the familiar squirming in his gut, the weakness in his limbs. He sways a little with dizziness, yet manages to get his swords out. 

“Pathetic as ever, I see,” says Azula. “You haven’t changed at all. I’d hoped you might get a handle on yourself, but I suppose even that was too much to expect of you.”

“Ozai and Azulon are using you,” Zuko bites out, futilely. He’s been through this, and through the swirling anger and resentment a strand of pity winds. “If anyone’s in denial, it’s you.”

She pauses. “You keep telling yourself that. Whatever makes you feel better.” She jerks her head towards them, gaze flicking to the man next to her. “Zhao, capture them.” She turns her attention back to Katara.

The grey-haired man moves toward them, earth fragments lifting and narrowing into pointed cones and zipping in to lodge into the stone behind them. Zuko dodges with difficulty, batting a smaller one away with his swords, trying to move forward, get in close, but Sokka drags him to the side.

A second later Zuko understands why: Zhao had released a burst of fire immediately after the earth projectiles. Another multiple bender? What the fuck?

Druk swoops in to dig his teeth into Zhao’s arm and flaps hard. Zhao howls, pounding at Druk’s snout with his fists flaming, and when that doesn’t work, powerful air gusts; but Druk is unfazed as he pulls Zhao, yelling and cursing, higher towards the cave ceiling. 

“Hang on,” Sokka tells Zuko, pressing him to lean against the wall and darting forward. Arsai is forced to use one hand to draw her weapon to parry him, giving Zuko a reprieve. He staggers forward. Azula is focusing on hemming in Katara, who has taken many blows of earth is currently caught in a maelstrom of swirling earth and wind.

Sokka is throwing everything he has at Arsai, and Zuko sees why: without her, both he and Katara will have their bending back.

He darts in as best he can, synchronizing with Sokka to alternate their blows where he can pull together the energy, forcing her back. Her sword goes flying off to the side. 

“Don’t let her close her fists!” yells Sokka.

They fall into a scuffle, scrabbling at her hands, small rocks digging into their skin. Zuko pries her fingers apart from her palm with difficulty, her legs kicking out at him and trying to throw him off. He digs his weight onto her arm. Through the dusty haze kicked up, he sees Katara finally put up an earth barrier to block Azula’s blows. 

Behind them Zhao crashes back to the ground, slowing his descent with airbending, but still staggering as he regains his feet. Nevertheless, his earth shields do a decent job of blocking Druk’s attacks, though he is bleeding heavily from the shoulder. He spots Arsai fighting Sokka and Zuko and scowls, readying a blow to assist her.

A block of earth from the side smacks into Zhao, throwing him to the side. Toph runs up, three strips of metal hovering beside her. “Move!” she shouts, and Zuko and Sokka fling themselves away from Arsai as Toph wraps two of the strips of metal around her fingers, dragging them back so that there is no room for Arsai to close her fists-- a chorus of cracks sounds, and Arsai screams. The last strip catches Azula in the beat after a fire whip, curling around her wrists and yanking them together behind her as Azula’s eyes widen in surprise.

Toph then punches downward, and Arsai, Zhao, and Azula disappear underground with a yelp and a quiver of dust. Rocks grind underneath their feet.

“Don’t kill them!” yelps Katara before she interrupts herself with coughing.

“I wasn’t _gonna,”_ says Toph, but the rumbling stops. “They’re pretty deep, but that won’t hold them for long.”

“That’s your sister?” Katara pants, looking to Zuko. She leans heavily on Toph.

“Yes,” says Zuko curtly. 

“The water pump was melted,” says Toph, dragging Katara forward with determination even though Katara stands a full head above her. “They must have done it. Ty Lee and Mai went back to get the others.”

“What does she want?”

“What do you think she wants, Katara?! She probably wants to kill you! Or capture you, at the very least!” Sokka takes Katara’s other arm, slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Wait.” Katara pulls away. “I don’t want to run. I should face her.”

“I agree. Azula doesn’t play around. If we left, she’d just chase us. We have to end this here, even if she has multiple bending,” says Zuko. Part of him is terrified, but the other part is burning to confront her.

“No. Katara, you haven’t even mastered all the elements, or the Avatar state,” says Sokka. “Besides, if we fight here any more, the city might be in danger. Sometimes the best thing we can do is run away.”

Toph sticks her pinky in her ear to clear it. “Did you just say _multiple fucking bending?_ Is that what that was?”

“Explain later. Come on.” Sokka leads the run back into the town, but they’ve barely reached the outskirts when they encounter Iroh, Suki, Ty Lee, and Mai. 

“Uncle,” pants Zuko, “it’s Azula.”

A grim, understanding expression takes over Iroh’s face. 

They briefly explain the multiple bending.

The ground rumbles faintly. Azula is beginning to dig her way out. 

“If Azula came all this way to find you, she’s not going to give up,” Iroh says, turning to Katara. “We have to get you away from here as fast as possible. There’s a secondary exit from the city this way.” 

Tomoe comes into view next to a steep ramp. She is holding the reins of two ostrich-horses harnessed to a wooden cart. “You’ll need speed,” she says, pressing the reins into Sokka’s hand. “The fewer, the better.”

“But will you be okay here?” blurts Katara. 

“Sounds like we’re not the target. I’d worry more about yourself if I were you.” Tomoe half-smiles. 

Zuko grimly gears himself up for another confrontation with Azula, but Iroh puts a hand on his shoulder. Zuko looks at him, confused.

“Go,” says Iroh. “Take over Katara’s firebending training. Go to the Southern Air Temple and find Dawa.”

“But Uncle--!”

“Don’t worry. Her main objective is to follow you. Besides, I think I have a plan. It may involve chi-blocking.” He looks at Ty Lee, who swallows nervously but doesn’t run.

“Uncle, are you sure?” 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got more than enough tricks left to deal with Azula.”

“See you guys later.” Toph punches first Ty Lee and then goes for Mai, who nimbly dodges. “I’ll be back.” She vaults into the cart next to Suki and helps Katara to a seat.

Zuko reluctantly climbs up into the driver’s seat next to Sokka. 

Sokka snaps the reins. They trundle forward up the ramp and into a tunnel. 

The dust they kick up in their wake is enormous. Cacti and strange little trees with tiny tufts of green at their ends zoom past. They’re making a beeline straight for the coast. Now that the Northern Fire Nation has found them, there’s no point in going slow to avoid detection; they’ll go straight across the ocean to the Southern Air Temple.

“Ugh, why didn’t I see it before?” Sokka stares out at the galloping ostrich horses but doesn’t seem to see them.

“What?” calls Zuko over the rumbling of the wheels. He turns to look at him, resting his arm on the back of the seat for stability. Iroh may have told him to go, and Zuko knows just how formidable a fighter he is, but Zuko can’t shake the guilt and the worry. 

“What their plan was.” 

Out of the corner of his eye Zuko senses Suki and Katara looking up at them, and Toph lifts her head slightly. 

Sokka’s fingers tense on the reins. “We know the energybenders can take chi. We also know they can give it to people. They keep kidnapping benders from all the different nations.” Sokka shakes his head. “ _They’re taking bending from the kidnapped benders and giving it to firebenders._ They can make as many Avatars as they want. That’s how they’ll win the war.”


	17. The Sea of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka does some introspection and the gang gets into a battle at sea.

_“You’ll always have one thing they won’t have: the Avatar State,” says Roku in Katara’s meditative state. “It’s not just being able to bend all the elements that makes the Avatar the Avatar. You also have all the wisdom and experience of all other Avatars to guide you. The airbenders will teach you how to unlock all of your chakras so you can control it.” He pauses and bows his head. “But there is one more piece of advice I would give you: don’t hold back. Don’t wait to strike the Northern Fire Nation. I waited, and my mistake cost lives. As soon as you can master the elements, end it.”_

Sokka stares glumly out at the ebb and flow of the ocean. They reached the western coast of the Earth Kingdom less than a day after leaving Gim and used the last of their funds to secure this ship. Sokka is on watch, waiting for the sight of a pursuing ship behind them at any second, while the group sans Katara discusses their course.

They plan to head south, steering relatively close to the Earth Kingdom coast and then turning west to reach the Southern Air Temple.

Sokka glances at the map. “Wait, why don’t we just cut straight across?” He draws a straight line with his finger across the ocean.

“That’s crossing the Sea of Blood,” says Zuko.

“What? Don’t tell me you believe in that stuff, Zuko.”

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s supernatural. The fact is that a lot of ships go missing there, and the risk might not be worth it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” cuts in Toph gingerly. “Sea of Blood? I’m against running into any kind of trouble before we hit good, solid land.”

“Oh, come on. It’s nothing but rumors made up by old fishermen who like scaring people. It’s not real. There’s nothing weird about that part of the ocean, and there’s nothing to stop us from going straight through.” 

“You mean you don’t think all the stories of fish-people and giant beasts are true, Sokka?” Suki prods good-naturedly.

“No, I don’t. There’s no such thing.”

“You said that about the Avatar too,” puts in Zuko.

“Okay, that’s different.”

The door to belowdecks opens, and Katara emerges, blinking in the bright sunlight.

“Katara!” Sokka calls. “Help me out here. Sea of Blood or no?”

Katara looks up at them, frowning. “I just talked with Roku. He encouraged me to stop the Northern Fire Nation as fast as I can. So I guess we should take the fastest course, and if that’s it, then that’s where I need to go.”

“Well, there you have it. Sea of Blood. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Famous last words,” says Toph darkly.

Sokka ignores her. 

The ocean is different at night. The slow roll of dark water is tinged with beckoning menace. One can only imagine how fast you’d go under if you were to fall. Of course, almost every time Sokka has been on the open ocean a waterbender has been on board, and this time is no exception, but the sea has an intimidating pull that is hard to ignore.

Sokka stands on the deck of the stern, staring off into the impenetrable darkness fruitlessly, waiting for signs of pursuit to appear— but there’s nothing. There’s been nothing all night. Yet he knows there’s no way Azula has given up— her attitude during the fight and everything Zuko has said about her attest to that.

He starts to wander around to the starboard side, only to find Zuko hunched over the railing, arms tucked in tight to his body.

Sokka walks up to him. “Couldn’t sleep? You cold?”

Zuko doesn’t answer for a moment. Eventually, he says, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Azula. And now she’s back. I thought everything was different. But everything shitty from my past is coming back to haunt me.”

“Oh.” Sokka walks up next to him so that their elbows brush. “If that whole fiasco is what it was like, I get why you left.”

“It wasn’t like that. It was worse.”

“Dude.” Sokka pats his arm awkwardly, unsure what else to do, and loops his arm around Zuko’s.

Zuko shakes his head, raising one shoulder in a half shrug. “I know I have to face her. I just...” He pauses. “I worry that the past few years have been a fluke, that it’s my destiny to go back there and turn out like them. That it’s their destiny to destroy everything I’ve ever cared about.”

“Nah,” says Sokka. “You’ll make your own destiny.”

The revelation of the plan for an army of hostile Avatars hangs over them as the swaying of the ship tips them back and forth.

Sokka desperately wants to know— should he ask? “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.” 

Zuko glances up at him, and the attention of his gaze makes Sokka lose his nerve. “Never mind.”

“Are you wondering about this?” Zuko points to his scar.

“Yeah,” Sokka admits. He raises his hand hesitantly so that it hovers above Zuko’s cheek. When Zuko doesn’t move, he rests the tips of his fingers on it lightly. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Sokka thinks Zuko might be blushing.

“What did you want to know?”

Sokka shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to answer. I just wanted to ask… did Azula give this to you?”

“No.” Zuko swallows.

“Oh.” That’s a relief. Some silly training accident as a kid, maybe--

“My father did.”

“Ozai.” His hand falls back to his side. 

Zuko bows his head.

“What a bastard. I’m sorry.” If Sokka ever sees that guy, he might actually try to kill him. “Does it hurt you?”

“Not anymore.”

They lapse into a solemn silence. 

The air is humid, the clouds low. The delicate waning crescent moon sheds little light. Sailing with all speed, they should reach the Southern Air Temple by night of the next day. Sokka gazes out into the choppy waters warily, scrutinizing their dark eddies, the tattered lace of their foam. 

“Look, a light!” Zuko says suddenly a minute later, pointing ahead of them, slightly to the port side.

A large white orb of light sways, floating, off in the distance. 

“Another ship?” Sokka mutters. “What are the odds?”

They float closer. The orb dangles close to the water.

“They might be in trouble,” says Zuko.

“I’ll go get the others.”

Toph, Katara, and Suki join them at the railing, sleep-ruffled and anxious.

“Do I really need to be here for this?” says Toph grumpily as Katara and Suki exclaim softly in confusion over the ball of light, undetectable to Toph. 

“Katara, is there anything weird happening in the water?” says Sokka.

Katara sighs and furrows her brow. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with the currents here.”

“There’s no sign of a fire,” says Suki suspiciously.

“It’s something mysterious, isn’t it?” says Toph. “We’re going to get into a battle, aren’t we?” She remains standing in the middle of the deck, on the large earth pile she and Katara dragged onto the ship for earthbending practice. “This is that spooky cursed ocean stuff. Shit.”

“Hold on,” says Sokka, squinting. “It’s almost like… a lantern. Maybe somebody’s been set adrift in a rowboat or something.”

“We should go check it out,” says Zuko.

“I vote we not do that,” says Toph.

“There’s some pretty strange stories about this area,” says Suki lowly. “I don’t want to believe them, but, well-- maybe following a mysterious light on the ocean isn’t the best idea. Not here.”

“Oh, come on, Suki, you too?” says Sokka.

Suki folds her arms with a shrug.

But much as Sokka doesn’t want to admit it, perhaps they are right. His skepticism is battling fiercely with his paranoia. He turns to his sister. “Katara, what’s your vote? You’re the Avatar, so we’ll go with your choice.”

Katara bites her lip. “... I want to see what it is. It might be someone in trouble.”

“Okay.” But as they change course, Sokka has a strange intuition of apprehension.

They sail slowly closer. The light bobs enticingly. 

“Is that a… a pole, holding it up? There…” The hairs on Sokka’s arms are standing up. Sokka squints. The dipping and splashing of the waves, the dimness that takes over early down— no, something darker than only water. A strange tint in the sea— darker, a greenish grayish thing maybe—

“Father of all motherfuckers,” mutters Toph in the background, gathering up earth like a security blanket.

“We should leave,” says Zuko abruptly.

“Ye--”

The outer surface of the boat screeches and crunches, splinters flying, and something rises to loom out of the water. They are being pushed backwards as easily as leaves in a gutter. Rising, rising— greenish scales shoot upwards— a flash of teeth the height of an adult human— and between, a gaping maw in a garish grin that could swallow a house, dark, deep, rank, advancing--

Gaping, they take in the monstrous angler fish. 

It lunges, and they all jolt into action as best they can.

None of their attacks are having much effect. Sokka’s sword glances off the thick scales as the fish moves to submerge itself, rocking the boat dangerously. It surfaces on the other side, mouth wide, and Sokka dives to the side to avoid a massive tooth that slices right through the main deck and into the bowels of the ship. The fish tears the tooth away, taking a good chunk of the ship with it.

Toph beans it in its milky eye with a lump of rock, and the fish shudders and thrashes, massive dorsal fin splashing them all with its waving. “We need to get it away from the ship!” she yells. “If it punches through the hull we’re all gonna drown!”

Sokka glances quickly over the fish-- there’s the eye, which Toph hit, but that wouldn’t kill it-- “I need to stab it inside the mouth!” he yells.

“What?!” Katara’s arms shake with the strain of holding the fish back from the ship with the ocean. 

“You’ll only have one shot--” Suki shouts.

“I should go!” Katara yells. 

Zuko scorches the fish’s other eye and it pulls back from the ship, circling it instead.

“Katara, no, I have to-- I should be the one to do it--”

“No, I should go, I’m the waterbender! The fish is in the water, and--”

“Yeah, but I have the sword! I have to go! I-- I should go! You wouldn’t understand!”

“What is your problem? You don’t think I can do it?”

“Can it, both of you!” Toph screams, and they all backpedal fast, swiping abortively as the beast barrels in for another pass, ripping off the starboard railing and a chunk of deck with a loud crunch and just barely missing Suki. The boat sways dangerously, throwing Sokka against the belowdecks door.

“Is this about that-- the playak?” Katara shouts.

“Oh, you’re bringing that up _now?”_ The image of the terrifying creatures that periodically menace the Southern Water Tribe’s ships jumps into Sokka’s mind-- teeth-- blood-- water-- the masculine respect helping slay one offered was a powerful lure, back then, representing something Sokka desperately wanted. All of this memory is there and gone in a flash of discomfort as Sokka is knocked into Zuko and Toph, just barely dodging most of the force of one of the teeth. “I should be the one to go!” 

“No, I should!”

They round on each other as the boat rocks wildly, both of them slipping and sliding over the watery deck in the darkness. 

“I’m not doing it because I don’t think you’re enough of a man to fight,” Katara says through gritted teeth. “ _I’m doing it because you’re my brother, and I don’t want you to die.”_

“I-- I never said--” Sokka sputters, caught completely off guard. “I just-- No one is dying!”

Zuko grabs Katara’s arm, and she glares up at him. 

“Hold the fish in place!” he says.

Katara turns to the fish and pushes forward with one hand, creating a powerful wave that rises above their heads, shoving the fish back from the boat as it struggles. With her other she forms a hefty spike of ice like a spear. 

“Now!” Zuko shouts.

Katara and Sokka both make to run forward, but Suki grabs the back of Katara’s tunic and Zuko Sokka’s arm, yanking both of them back. At the same moment Sokka feels his sword fly out of his hand. The sword launches itself through the waves, darts straight into the fish’s gaping mouth and out the other side of the head with a meaty _schick,_ and makes another pass back through to the front. It then repeats the trip a couple more times for good measure. Sokka and Katara gape as the fish falls back with a massive splash that washes over them on the deck.

The sword zooms back to Toph, who catches it heavily in a hand encased in an earthen glove. “You’re welcome,” she says, offering it back to Sokka.

Red starts to bloom on the surface of the water. Katara lets the wave fall and the ship bobs erratically for a minute. Toph immediately runs to the railing, swearing and holding her stomach.

Suki inspects the cracked deck and hull of the ship and the missing pieces, none of which affect flotation. “Well, it could have been worse.”

“I-- well--” Sokka scratches the back of his head. “It--” He lets his hand fall, scrambles for a familiar topic in his embarrassment. “Well, I guess we’re good on fresh fish for the rest of the way, am I right?”

Sokka picks at the scales on his slice of fish. Echoes bounce around his mind. 

_“I just wanted to prove I could be a man!” The sleet is mingling with his tears; why is he crying? Men don’t cry._

There was no conscious malice in what was said next ( _“But you’re not! You won’t ever be!”),_ only frustration and anger and fear-- fear for Sokka, who was not supposed to be there-- but the intention was little comfort. 

That was a long time ago. He doesn’t glance at the scar from the bite on his arm, knowing it to be already faded. 

Whatever. Surely the son of a chief can afford to be the town eccentric.

He stares down at the bones and scales on the plate in his lap. The thing’s dead, Sokka came up with the plan that killed it, whoopdy-doo, right? 

_The voices in my head still don’t like me,_ he observes thoughtfully. _Well, fuck them, I guess. Isn’t that what I should say? Isn’t that better to say? To try?_

Zuko told Sokka about his scar, and Sokka wants to reciprocate: He snuck onto a dangerous hunting mission meant for the men as a kid, things went wrong but nobody died, Sokka became the town oddity, etc. Not so dramatic. Certainly not as bad as being burned in the face by your own father. 

“Hey,” blurts Zuko quietly after a minute of contemplation, turning to him, their knees knocking together. Toph and Katara slump in low, exhausted conversation across the room, while Suki is on deck keeping watch. “You don’t need to prove yourself to people. You can’t. It’s impossible.”

“Wow, thanks.” Sokka can tell by now that Zuko does not mean to insult, but the gentle needling is impossible to resist.

“No, I mean-- it’s not you.” Zuko frowns intensely. “Some people-- it’s not because you’re-- inadequate-- they’ll just write you off automatically without even giving you a chance. It doesn’t have anything to do with what you did. So there’s no point taking their opinion into account. You’re good. I mean you’re-- I-- you’re fine. You’re doing… fine.”

“Heh. That’s good advice.” Sokka’s heart swells a little, endeared. So awkward. He sighs. “Well, I might not have gotten the playak, but at least this one’s dead now. A little weird, but I guess it didn’t taste too bad.” He stretches, watching Zuko watch him. They both glance away.

_I like you._

“So who gets next watch?”


	18. The Southern Air Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another run-in with Azula, the team reaches the Southern Air Temple.

“We’re almost there!” calls Sokka, looking up from their navigational instruments. “We should be there in only a few more hours.” He looks up at the sky. The thick fog that rolled in after lunch is dissipating.

“That would be great if I didn’t see smoke,” calls Suki, peering behind them. 

A plume of smoke curls upwards, faint at first but growing as it emerges from the fog. Even as they watch the bow of a stern black ship appears, close enough to see the individual panels on its side. 

“It’s Azula,” says Zuko grimly. 

“Damn it! She couldn’t have gotten us before our ship got shredded?” groans Sokka. “Katara, can we outrun her with waterbending?”

“She’s probably on a steam-powered ship,” says Zuko. “We’ll have to fight.”

The ship grows closer, hulking compared to their wooden one. A reddish flare lights up on the deck of the enemy ship: a flaming catapult.

“Duck!” Zuko yells.

The projectile crashes into the port side of the ship, throwing Zuko against the deck. Dizzy, he pushes himself up, hearing the crackling of flames-- the metal bow crashes down onto the injured side, jolting the ship and throwing them all off balance. The pounding of feet. Azula brought soldiers. The first one comes at Zuko with fists flaming, face hidden by the skull-like helmet, and he has no time to formulate a plan before he instinctively moves to defend himself with answering attacks. The others must react similarly around him. 

Azula steps off the gangplank, easily dodges a water whip from Katara, and moves in smoothly, ducking between the fighters as she makes for Katara. A few short, powerful gusts of air blow out Katara’s fire punches, and she dives out of the way of the wave Katara raises, managing to slam her against the remaining railing with another airbending blast. Katara forms the pile of earth on deck into cannonballs, but Azula jumps, seeming to hover in midair for a split second with airbending before touching down. 

A great screeching noise. Toph has crumpled the gangplank, making it impossible for more than half a dozen soldiers to make the crossing. A retaliatory fire whip from one of the soldiers makes her lose her balance and topple over the side.

“Help!” she sputters, flailing. “I can’t sw--” She goes under in rush of bubbles, more firmly and quickly than normal, and Zuko snaps his head up to find Azula at the edge, hands poised in bending position. 

Azula narrowly dodges as Katara barrels off the deck after Toph, shooting into the water like an arrow. 

Zuko’s next blow slams the soldier he was fighting into the cabin wall, and he rounds on Azula. “What the fuck?”

“She buried me in her element. I’m just returning the favor.” Azula shrugs. She wears no lipstick today, and her hair has a subtle frizz. Her eyes are bloodshot. 

She’s trying to separate them, Zuko realizes. Divide and conquer.

She comes at him with a jet of water, following it up with a blast of lightning; Zuko narrowly dodges, feeling the electricity sizzle the air. 

“Once you’ve done what Grandfather wants, he won’t care about you!” 

“Exactly what a traitor would say,” Azula snaps, dispatching his fire fan with a focused spray of water. 

“No. It’s the truth! As soon as you fail--” 

_“I’m_ not going to fail!” Azula shrieks with a spurt of unhinged laughter, and she launches a hail of icicles at him. 

Zuko manages to knock away most of them, but one slices painfully into his side, leaving a warm sticky trail of blood in its place. “What have they said to you? They already threaten you, don’t they? Where’s Zhao?”

“I didn’t need him! I’m not as useless as you!” Under the contempt is-- a hint of fear?

Azula has spent long years under the combined thumb of Azulon and Ozai, the sole recipient of all their remaining pressure now that Zuko and Lu Ten are gone. Pity wars with resentment in Zuko’s heart. “What happened to Uncle Iroh?”

“That old fool? I took care of him. Who would have thought that the Dragon of the West would have become so weak?” 

Zuko moves to strike again, but a water whip knocks him back. The clanging and thumping of Sokka and Suki battling the rest of the soldiers in the background fills the air. Druk’s shrieking and hissing can be heard. _Azula always lies,_ he tells himself, his head ringing.

“It’s you who’ve failed. You’ve failed Father and Grandfather. You’ve failed your country.” Azula stares at him. “I could never stoop so low.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Zuko spits. 

A flash of anger crosses Azula’s face. 

But before she can act, the water explodes around them, whipping the ship back and forth. Within it, Katara rises, eyes glowing, Toph dangling at her side. 

She swipes her free hand, and water pummels Azula and the Northern Fire Nation soldiers off the deck. Azula hits the Northern Fire Nation ship’s hull with a thud, scrabbles, and manages to snatch a ridge in the metal. 

Katara moves again, and an enormous wave rises, building higher and higher. Zuko realizes in a split second what she’s going to do.

The wave slams down against the back end of the ship, catapulting them forward. Wind whistles loudly. More than once it seems they leave the water entirely, skipping like a stone on a pond. 

Eventually they slow to a stop, the typical bobbing of the waves feeling surreal after their half-flight. Zuko peels himself off of the belowdecks door. Toph, on deck next to an unconscious Katara, is trying to swear while hacking up water. Suki and Sokka, who is nearly being strangled by Druk, groan nearby.

Zuko struggles to his feet to look behind them. Not a sign of Azula’s ship. He glances forward. Is that land?

Sokka raises his head and then lets it thunk back against the waterlogged deck. “Looks like we’re here.”

No sooner has he said this than a few specks in the distance become visible. A small group of airbenders on sky bison fly over low overhead, picking up a gust of wind that blows Zuko’s hair around, and circle around to alight on the deck. One dismounts and steps forward.

“Wangmo!” says Sokka. 

“Hello again.” She glances over the group, her eyes resting on Katara for a longer moment than anyone else. “We got word you might have been followed. I’m sorry we were too late to help.”

The sky bison help push the battered ship to the docks, and they all board the sky bison to fly up to the temple. Zuko winds up with Sokka, Druk, and a recently roused Katara on the back of Wangmo’s bison.

“So you’re the Avatar,” says Wangmo over the wind. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Wangmo. Prince Iroh contacted my teacher, Monk Dawa. I just want to say that it’s an honor for us to host the Avatar here at the Southern Air Temple.”

“Oh! Thank you.” Katara looks a little flustered underneath her exhaustion.

“Druk has gotten so much bigger!”

“Has he contacted you recently?” Zuko interrupts, tense. “Unc-- Prince Iroh.”

“Just today we got a letter from him. He was the one who told us that you might be followed by Princess Azula.”

Zuko breathes out a sigh of relief. So Iroh is fine, and Azula lied. Of course.

The sky bison approach the temple, where they split up and soar right over it.

“Where are we going?” asks Sokka.

“Dawa and some of the others think there’s a traitor in the temple.” Wangmo’s jaw clenches. “If what Prince Iroh said in his letters is true, the Northern Fire Nation is trying to dig its fingers into all of the nations. And after-- the kidnappings-- well, Dawa thinks it’ll be safer if we host you out of sight of most of the others. As much as it pains me to think some of them might be traitors.” 

They touch down deep in the forest some ways away from the temple in a little clearing bordered on one side by a tall cliff and on the other by a stream. In the cliff rough rectangular windows reveal dark, hollow rooms within. A railless staircase meanders up to a narrow doorway.

“These homes were from before the Air Nomads became centralized under the temples.” Wangmo leads the way up the stairs as another sky bison carrying Toph and Suki lands beside them. “We’ve fixed them up. No one comes around here anymore. It should be a safe place for you to learn airbending, as long as you lay low. Do you need medics?”

They enter a room with surprisingly smooth stone walls and a ceiling multiple stories high. Faded carvings of wind and air bison circle the walls. A hallway at the left leads farther along the cliff.

“We’ll be okay.” Katara pats her water bag tiredly. “I can do some healing with my waterbending.”

Wangmo guides them through the structure. A long hallway with many large windows spans the horizontal length of the cliff, and off of this hallway are a plethora of rooms: a large kitchen with a cooking fire pit and a pantry with stores of rice and noodles; a washing room with a trough through which water from the stream flows; and many small, empty rooms furnished only with plain beds. 

“Is this acceptable for your use? We’ll bring you over some fresher foods, of course.”

“O-Of course!” Katara’s eyes widen. “This is more than enough. I really appreciate you helping us.”

Wangmo gives her a small smile then. “Well, it’s our job as monks to aid the Avatar. Harmony between the material and spiritual world is our business.” She crosses to the door. “Either Dawa or I will come tomorrow morning to start teaching you airbending. In the meantime, I suggest you rest up. Don’t worry about the princess. Even if we’ve got traitors, there’s more than enough of us to defend the island.” She pauses. “We’re all with you, Avatar Katara. The Northern Fire Nation won’t get away with what they’re doing.”

She exits, and Zuko leans against the wall, exhausted. Toph flops right down on the floor and spreads her limbs out with a content sigh. Katara wears a contemplative but pleased expression at Wangmo’s last words.

“Well, now that that’s over, I’m going to sleep.” Sokka picks up his pack, still soggy from the kerfuffle earlier at sea, and trudges down the hallway to the bedrooms. He waves vaguely without turning around. 

“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” calls Katara halfheartedly. 

“Who cares?”

“Maybe he’s right. Not like we got much sleep last night,” admits Suki.

Katara’s shoulders slump a little. “I guess not.”

“Hey, we’re here, we’re safe, we’ve got supplies-- no point in not taking advantage of it while it lasts.” Toph is already on her way down the hallway. Katara moves to poke through the stores of food halfheartedly, Druk at her heels.

After a moment Zuko follows Toph, though the sun has not quite begun to set. He settles onto the bunk and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He doubts he’ll fall asleep. But there’s time for a rest.

It’s full night when Zuko is jolted awake. Someone’s poking his shoulder.

“Zuko,” someone hisses.

He’s alert instantly, sitting up. 

“Don’t freak out, it’s just me.” Sokka’s voice.

“What? What’s wrong? Is someone--”

“No, no.” Zuko sees a vague, slightly darker shape moving about in the air. It seems Sokka’s waving his hand dismissively. “Nothing’s wrong. Except for how _cold_ it is.”

“What-- why…” says Zuko, furrowing his brow. “Uh. I guess.”

“These guys are minimalistic to the max. This far south and one thin blanket? Way too chilly.”

“Airbenders can control the air around them so that the warm air stays near their bodies,” says Zuko slowly, recalling his uncle’s lessons on the other nations. “Kind of like an air blanket.”

“Figures. Anyway, uh--”

Zuko, his eyes adjusting a little to the dark, can see his outline shift a little, as if he’s shifting from foot to foot. 

“Might be a weird thing to ask. And you can _totally_ say no. But uh-- well, I think Katara wants to be alone, and since they’re not Water Tribe I think Suki or Toph might be weirded out, and, uh… Would it bother you if I slept in here with you? I mean, double the blankets, double the body heat, so...” 

Now that he knows there’s no danger, Zuko’s mind is half asleep again already. The quiet sounds of their slight shuffling seem amplified with the lack of sight. He doesn’t know what to say, except-- “You’re asking to cuddle with me?”

“Well, s-- I mean I-I-- It’s just-- uh, not-- well? Unless, uh-- if--” The embarrassment in his splutter is clear, and it produces a corresponding effect in Zuko.

He just said he was cold. Sleeping in the same bed doesn’t mean cuddling. Why is Zuko like this? He’s the one who assumed. Heat floods his face in the dark.

To Sokka’s credit, he doesn’t turn around and flee, but instead takes a breath and holds his ground. “Well, cuddle, schmuddle. I just want an extra blanket and stuff, you know? So what do you say?”

A part of Zuko wants to send him away and bury his face under the pillow out of shame, but the other part wins out. “Okay.”

“You mean it?” says Sokka in palpable relief, and as soon as Zuko grunts his assent he’s nudging at his shoulder to get him to move over. He throws his second blanket over the first one with an unpleasant gust of cold air and climbs into the bed with the utmost haste, burrowing down under the blankets. “You don’t kick in your sleep, do you?”

“I can kick you out at any time.”

“Eh, fair enough.”

Now that they’re lying close together, Zuko can feel Sokka’s shivering. He closes his eyes again with a sigh, trying to settle back into sleep, but it’s a little distracting. He opens his eyes again, even though he can only see dim shapes in the darkness. “Sokka.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re shivering.”

“Well, I mean, yeah? I just got into the bed. I’ll warm up.”

“Do you want to come here?” says Zuko, and then immediately regrets it. He clears his throat. “Like, you’ll probably warm up faster…”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, smugly, with an undercurrent of softness: “So who’s asking to cuddle now?”

Zuko makes a wordless sound of frustration and mashes his pillow into Sokka’s face. Sokka snorts in laughter, batting it away. 

“I’m just _saying--”_ says Zuko, face and neck aflame. Agni help him. “That-- it’s an _option._ For warmth.”

“Okay, okay. All right, then.”

There’s a brief bit of awkwardness as they scoot closer and position themselves, Sokka tossing an arm around Zuko’s middle and tucking Zuko’s head under his chin. Zuko wraps his arm around him hesitantly, feeling a little more confident in pulling him in closer when Sokka obligingly shifts so that they fit better. 

Sokka’s heart seems to be going awfully fast as far as Zuko can hear. And Zuko’s heart rate picks up as if in answer. What a pair of idiots. They’ll end up giving each other heart attacks at this rate. 

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Sokka squeezes him tightly once as if in reassurance. 

Zuko doesn’t know what Sokka’s cuddling habits are like, but for his part, he knows he is trying to get used to the feeling of having somebody so near. It’s a little strange to him still, the sound of someone’s breathing overlapping so closely with his in the dead quiet, the way their limbs fit together. He can feel the cold of Sokka’s hand where it’s pressed against his back through his thin shirt. 

It feels-- safe, despite his initial nerves. Nice. And yes, warm, certainly. 

Wangmo and Dawa appear the next morning, as promised, and Katara begins her airbending training in earnest. They often climb to the top of the cliff in which their dwelling is carved, putting them mostly out of sight of the others, who spend their time once again sparring, worrying, and doing their best to prepare themselves for the threat looming on the horizon.

Sokka continues with his claims of being cold. Zuko does not mind.

Zuko walks in from training one afternoon to find Sokka scribbling at the end of a very long letter. “What’s that?”

Sokka glances at him with a slight smile. “I’m writing a letter to my parents. Looks like the Northern Fire Nation is gearing up for a bigger war. They need to know what’s going on.”

A borrowed messenger hawk sits patiently at Sokka’s elbow. 

“Oh.”

Sokka finishes and sits back to let the ink dry. “They still practicing up there?”

“Yeah.” Zuko sits on the edge of the desk.

“It’s weird how smoothly this is going.” 

Azula has to know they’re here. But she hasn’t tried anything. Apparently she hasn’t figured out a suitable form of attack yet. 

“What would you do, after this is all over? Best case scenario,” Sokka says suddenly.

Zuko looks at him, startled, but Sokka is studying his drying letter. Zuko tries to gather his thoughts. “I… don’t know. I think I…” Zuko hasn’t thought about the best case scenario in years. “I’d want… to… If the Civil War ended, I’d help the Fire Nation get back on its feet. It’s my duty.”

“But what would you _want_ to do?”

“Well, what would _you_ want to do?”

Sokka tilts his head contemplatively. “I would go home, eat all my favorite Water Tribe foods, and sleep for three days.” 

“I’d want… I’d want to watch the sunset,” says Zuko haltingly, “with people I care about, and know that’s it’s over.”

Sokka nods.

“You’d be there,” Zuko feels compelled to add, and when Sokka looks at him with wide eyes he glances away. “Um, ideally. Not if you didn’t want to.”

“No, I’d come.” Sokka rests his hand over Zuko’s. “Never seen a Fire Nation sunset before.”

“It is beautiful,” Zuko mumbles.

He is too afraid to turn his hand over to see if Sokka would lace their fingers together.

Katara rushes in one evening with her face aglow. “I’ve done it!” she says, beaming. “I’ve mastered the Avatar State.”

“That’s great!” Sokka pushes a bowl of noodles at her.

“So that’s what that wind was just now!” Toph says. “So does this mean you can finally get back to earthbending now?”

“And firebending,” Zuko adds.

“Yeah, of course.” Katara looks at the bowl of noodles dubiously (none of them besides her are more than barely functional cooks), but her eyes shine. “With just a little more training in all the elements, I know I’ll be able to handle anything the Northern Fire Nation can throw at me!”

“They won’t know what hit them,” Suki agrees cheerfully, nudging her in the arm.

A panicked “What?” from outside breaks the spell. They all pause, listening as the hum of frantic conversation grows louder.

Wangmo appears in the doorway, a rarity when she would normally return to the temple after evening practice with Katara. Another airbender, looking anxious, stands beside her. Wangmo looks pale. 

“Wangmo?” Katara stands. “What’s wrong?”

“We just got news that there’s been a civilian massacre in the Southern Fire Nation caused by the Avatar.”


	19. Iling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang reaches the Southern Fire Nation and meets Firelord Iling. Fake Avatars are afoot.

The coast of the Southern Fire Nation comes slowly into view in the morning fog. Zuko stares. It seems like forever since he’s seen it, but it can’t have been more than five months.

He glances around at his companions: Sokka, asleep against Zuko’s shoulder, Suki, curled up and watching her feet, Druk next to Suki, and the tensely quiet airbender at the head of the bison. A little ways away he can see the other bison carrying Wangmo, Katara, and Toph. 

They reach land and zoom right over it, the uniform waves replaced by greenery. They touch down at the edge of the Southern Fire Nation capital, a former fishing village that mushroomed into a city as former Northerners flooded in a hundred years ago. 

Wangmo and the other airbender depart with promises to warn the other nations of the development, if they have not heard already. The five of them pass outlying houses, empty and silent, and approach the denser areas. 

Katara glances at him. “So which way is the palace?”

“Follow me.” Zuko winds his way into the city, the others following in a line behind him. Druk, trotting beside him, is sniffing constantly, swiveling his head this way and that, yellow eyes alert. The place is curiously deserted.

As they turn corners and follow alley shortcuts, the sound of vague shouting reaches their ears.

“What’s going on?” says Suki. 

Zuko stops at an intersection, straining to hear the correct direction. It does seem to be coming from the palace. “This way.”

They all break into a light jog. The sound of hollering is much clearer now. 

Zuko emerges into the street leading up to the palace and has to pull up short not to collide with the backs of the people gathered there shouting. The others stumble to a stop behind him.

Zuko grabs the arm of the man in front of him. “Hey, what’s going on?”

The man looks at him incredulously. “We’re protesting the coverup of the Avatar massacres. It’s not our fault what our ancestors did. Iling cares more about her family feud than about our lives.” 

_“What?”_ snaps Zuko. “What are you talking about? There was only--” His heart skips a beat. 

The man shakes his head, face hard. “There were two more last night. One in Kido, one in the North. The Avatar clearly wants revenge for shit that happened a hundred years ago and I, for one, am not willing to die just because Iling doesn’t want to make up with her son!”

“The Avatar didn’t cause any massacre!” breaks in Katara hotly. 

The man gives her a pitying look. “General Chang saw it firsthand.”

“The Northern Fire Nation is lying to you! You can’t fall for it!” Katara visibly steels herself. “I’m the Avatar.”

The man takes a step back. “W-What?”

“I’m Avatar Katara! The others are imposters!” A few people nearby take notice, turning towards them and away from the palace, mumurming, staring, shuffling. 

“Okay, maybe not say that--” Sokka grabs for Katara’s arm, but she shakes him off. 

“It’s a plot to transfer bending to firebenders using the ancient art of energybending! I can promise you that you have my protection, and I’ll work with the Firelord to make sure--”

A pale object comes flying in and strikes Katara in the cheek, leaving a bloody scratch. The crowd around them makes noises of shock and suspicion as Sokka leaps to Katara’s aid. A taro root rolls away on the ground. 

More yells break out as someone yells, “Hey! Leave her alone! You think the North is so innocent?” and a chaotic shouting match ensues.

“Come on!” Suki ushers them back the way they’d come, and Zuko leads them down a number of side streets until they rest in the shadow of a dead-end alleyway. 

“What were you thinking?” complains Sokka.

Katara gingerly lifts healing water to her face, scowling. “I was thinking I should set the record straight! I can't let this go on!”

“Well, maybe you should have thought it through better!”

“You mean you wanted me to lie?!”

Toph stands at the mouth of the alley with her feet planted firmly and her hand on the brick wall. “They followed us a little, but I think they gave up.”

“Come on. We need to get inside.” Zuko leads them down a yet more circuitous route, retracing his steps multiple times until he finds an entrance devoid of angry citizens, and finally convinces the bored guard patrolling a bank of windows to let them scramble through one. 

They clatter through the hallways, Zuko leading the way, servants and officials hurrying past them, until they hear a shout.

“Zuko!”

Iroh is at the opposite end of the hallway, hurrying towards them.

“Uncle!” 

They meet up in the middle, where Iroh pulls Zuko into a hug. “I’m relieved to see you made it.”

“Uncle, what’s happening? Why are there protesters outside?”

Iroh guides them down the hallway, towards the central royal chambers instead of the expansive throne room. Someone dressed in an aide’s uniform scurries off upon seeing them. “After the massacres, the North offered a truce with the South, to fight the Avatar together. Iling refused, but some of the people believe the Avatar has come back to punish us for the actions of our ancestors and are begging for Iling to accept their help.”

A group of soldiers clanks past. Zuko watches them turn the corner. “What is she doing?” A new sense of foreboding hits him. 

“Right now she’s barricading the palace. But beyond that, it’s anyone’s guess.”

They enter the part of the palace dedicated to the royal chambers. The number of people they pass drops drastically as they navigate the slightly stuffy red hallways. 

The sound of approaching feet comes to them from ahead, and a familiar figure with sideburns and red lipstick rounds the corner.

“Hey!” They approach quickly to clap Zuko on the shoulder, scanning the rest of the group. “I’m glad you made it back, Zuko. But I gotta warn you, Great-Grandma sent some armed guards, and they won’t be far behind.”

Katara jolts. “She doesn’t think I actually did--”

“No, no.” Lu Ten shakes their head emphatically. “But she is not happy. Don’t worry. With the three of us here, you’ll be fine. Just keep your heads.” They sigh and project a friendly smile around at the group. “I’m Lu Ten, Zuko’s cousin. It’s not normally so chaotic around here, I swear.”

Iroh puts a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “She will be angry. Don’t be intimidated. Tell her the truth, and keep your resolve. I know you'll do fine. Follow Zuko’s lead.”

Katara nods once tersely.

The shuffle of a large group reaches their ears, and a few moments later the aforementioned armed guards approach.

“Firelord Iling requests the presence of the Avatar and Prince Zuko,” the front guard says. “The rest will be escorted to a parlour room to wait.”

“You all right with this?” Toph mutters. “I’m willing to raise hell if you guys need me to.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Katara takes a deep breath and steps forward slowly. “I’ll go.”

Sokka squeezes Zuko’s arm, and he follows Katara into the circle of guards. Four break off to guide the rest of the group down a side hallway. The others close ranks around them, blocking off their view as they proceed towards Iling’s chambers.

They reach a set of golden, arched doors: the entrance to Iling’s personal reception room. One of the guards opens the door. They enter and the doors thud closed behind them.

His great-grandmother has her back to them. She is pouring something from a glass bottle into a glass on the sideboard, hands withered with age but steady. 

Zuko bows anyway and Katara follows him.

They wait for what feels like ages as the liquid streams into the glass, listening to the clink as Iling replaces the cap on the bottle and the shuffle of her feet against the carpets as she turns.

"Sit down.”

Zuko carefully selects a spot on a chair halfway from the door. Close enough to the door that if he needs to make a quick escape he can; not so close that Iling will comment on it. Katara sits next to him after a moment of hesitation. Their chairs, as do all the chairs in the room, face Iling’s larger, velvet-backed throne in all but name at the far end of the room. 

“What explanation do you have for all this, Avatar?” She settles in her chair, glass in hand, gaze sharp on Katara’s face.

Katara straightens slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’re not sure what I mean?” Her hand tightens around the glass. “I mean the way you stormed in, girl, and let the entire population see you while you declared yourself to be my ally! The daughter of the Minister of Justice saw you, and now word is spreading. You have put me in a position where my people believe I’m sheltering a murderer!”

“But I’m not! Why can’t you just tell them the truth?” Katara’s shoulders tense. 

“This is a sensitive situation. Did you have any care for the delicate situation here? No, you did not. Azulon offered me an alliance to defeat the Avatar, and I refused. There are some who think the Avatar and the other nations want to ‘punish them for what their ancestors did,’ and sentiment against the need for civil war has been growing for some time. Do you think they will believe some crackpot idea about energybending experiments in the face of all their fear?”

“But it is the truth,” Zuko puts in, steeling himself. “How can you say how they’ll react without even giving them the information? It’s not Katara’s fault. It’s Azulon’s. The people need to know that!”

Iling turns her gaze on him. “We have no evidence. You have forced us into a dangerous position before we were ready. All that would happen now is we would expose ourselves to ridicule, so much ridicule that it would seem like we’re hiding something. Azulon has covered his tracks too well. Why would he massacre civilians in his own country?” She downs the entire glass and storms over to the sideboard to pour herself another.

“So what, you’re just going to let Azulon continue with his lies?” snaps Zuko, standing.

Iling slams the glass down on the sideboard, sloshing alcohol over her fingers. “My ability to rule will be drastically hindered by exposing the truth. I can’t defend the Fire Nation while fighting a war on two fronts!”

“Maybe it’s not about you! It’s about the safety of the people of the Fire Nation!” Zuko curls his fists.

“It’s not about me?” Iling strides forward dangerously, seeming to loom above him with the force of her fury despite her diminutive frame. “I was the one who rescued this country. I was the one who defended it these long years. It’s because of me that Sozin--” She spits the name of her victim and late husband. “--didn’t get the chance to carry out his plans!” Her lip curls. “I was the one who saved the Air Nomads from certain destruction, and yet the Avatar had the nerve to abandon me in _my_ time of need!”

“This war isn’t about you.” Zuko is shaking. The last time he defied someone like this he nearly lost an eye. He does not think Iling would hurt him, but a part of him can never be sure. “I understand what you did before, but defending your personal position isn’t what we need now!”

Iling rears back, voice gone high and hissing. “Are you questioning my claim to the throne?”

Zuko draws himself up as best he can. “I’m questioning your motives. The safety of our people should always be our first priority.”

Iling snorts, eyes flicking to Katara. “And you, Avatar? What do you have to say?”

“I agree with Zuko.” Katara rises to stand next to him. “It’s my duty to protect people. Even if they don’t believe me. I’m sorry that the last Avatar couldn’t be there for you. But I’m not him, and I promise you that I’ll do whatever I can to end this.”

“I suppose Iroh put you up to this?” says Iling sourly. 

“Nobody put me up to anything,” says Katara staunchly. 

Iling sighs and turns to lean against the sideboard, suddenly looking her age and tired. “Leave me.”

She doesn’t have to tell them twice. 

The guards lead them back out through two hallways and take a turn down a side corridor, where they open a door to find the others milling anxiously around a parlour room, listening to Lu Ten’s tale of the construction of the palace. The two of them have everyone’s attention as they enter the room.

“How did it go?” pipes up Sokka immediately.

They explain quickly. 

“Uncle, what do we do now?” says Zuko.

“We have to keep the fake Avatars from inflicting any more damage. It would also help us if we could capture one, to prove that Katara is the real Avatar.”

There’s a commotion of rapid conversation outside the door, and Iroh has just swung it open when a guard nearly falls in. 

“Another massacre, Prince Iroh,” she pants. “We just got news now.”

“Where?” Iroh pushes the woman into a chair. 

“Sangkan,” she gasps. “A tiny village on the southern coast, near the border. The ‘Avatar.’ Again.”

Katara stands up. “I have to go.”

“Wait.” Suki grabs her arm. “If you go, we’re all going.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had enough of this sitting around and waiting,” adds Toph.

“We should go immediately,” says Iroh seriously. “It will take about an hour to get there by eelhound.”

“You’re willing to come with us even though Iling will be angry?” says Katara.

“Some things are more important than appeasing your relatives,” says Iroh firmly. He exchanges a nod with Lu Ten. “Lu Ten can hold down the fort here.”

The ride is bumpy and fast, and Zuko spends most of it staring at the eelhound’s narrow head as it speeds down bumpy roads, leaving village after village in the dust. Druk flies alongside. As they approach, they encounter groups of people passing them going the opposite way, some carrying belongings. 

It’s when they start hearing screams over the sound of the sea that they know they’ve come near the right place. 

Much of the village has been demolished, and splintered wood and strewn baskets lie everywhere. People flee every which way. 

But they haven’t quite reached their intended location. This is an entirely different coastal village. The first one is already done for, and the ‘Avatar’ has moved on.

They dismount. A mighty crash sounds as another building falls, somewhere nearby. 

“This way!” says Toph, sensing the vibrations, and they take off, heading against the flow of the terrified crowd, knocking into people and stumbling. A cloud of dust has been kicked up, hampering their sense of direction. 

They break out into an open area where all the structures have been demolished. 

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” someone screams. “THIS IS YOUR PUNISHMENT FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE! THE ENTIRE WORLD WILL MAKE YOU PAY!”

An overwhelming gust of wind clears the air a little: in the middle, the shouting woman with dark hair and light brown skin charging forward, leveling ostentatious attacks with all types of bending at any person running past; to her left, a quartet using earthbending to destroy the nearby buildings; to her right, a crew of others chasing after a fleeing pair with water whips; and behind her, another group knocking a screaming woman against a wall with powerful air blasts. 

Not only are they framing the Avatar, they are implicating the other nations in their attack. He has barely a second to process this before he’s running.

He goes to the aid of the woman slammed against the wall first, dragging her out of the way of the ‘airbenders’ before turning against them himself. It becomes clear that they don’t move like airbenders-- they don’t dodge the way airbenders do, instead blasting him with concentrated wind the way he would with firebending. This tendency not to dodge enables him to hit one in the open spot under their air blast.

He’s following them-- he’s battling one of the ‘waterbenders’ with Toph-- people are sprinting past him-- a column of earth shooting upward knocks him flat. There’s a child screaming somewhere. His ears are ringing. His chin where he was hit aches. Where are the others? He rolls to his feet to follow one of the attackers chasing a fleeing man.

The sound of a throaty horn cuts through the tumult. Zuko looks around wildly, and through a house whose back wall is smashed he sees a ship nearing them at sea-- no, multiple ships-- the red and black flame flapping at the mast. 

The Northern Fire Nation has arrived.

A heavy crash as the gangplank of the first ship smashes onto the docks. Zuko’s heart is pounding even as he forces a ‘waterbender’ back and away from following the civilians. Any second now they’ll be overwhelmed. Two minutes later?-- ten minutes later?-- ten seconds later?-- Northern Fire Nation troops swarm the area-- the fake Avatar and her followers are engulfed by a sea of firebending, all directed at--

Katara, eyes glowing, sweeps out one arm and knocks all of the troops off their feet with a wind that tears at their clothes. The earth ripples like water and buries the feet of another flank of soldiers as they cry out in pain. She lifts her arms and the nearby ocean rises, reaching its tendrils through the village streets--

Katara jolts and gasps. Behind her a trembling boy holding a bow comes into Zuko’s focus. Katara turns slightly, and Zuko spots the arrow in her arm. Time seems to stop for a moment.

The water sloshes down, pinning Zuko flat against the ground. When he emerges from the wash, it’s to see a maelstrom of firebending from the remaining fighters, not a scrap of enemy earthbending, waterbending, or airbending in sight. The fake Avatar has disappeared. 

“Get her!” someone shouts, and a dozen civilians with pitchforks run out, enthusiastically closing in on Katara along with the firebenders. Zuko gets a glimpse of tears streaming down the face of one farmer, face taut with rage-- they are _terrified_ of her.

Katara jumps out of the pile with airbending and crumples near the periphery, where the crowd turns to follow. Zuko feels himself yanked backwards by the arm and finds his uncle, who tugs him away. Zuko helplessly moves into a run, sensing Sokka dragging Katara nearby, Toph and Suki in the corner of his vision, Druk above his head, and then they’re being lifted by a slab of earth and thrust away from the battle, and the village falls behind and fades from view.

“They set a trap for us,” says Katara numbly as her arm is bandaged. 

“No kidding,” says Suki glumly.

Zuko stares out the window, where birds are singing as if everything is fine and okay. A servant met them earlier to inform them that Iling was so angry she didn’t even want to speak to them. 

“How could I have been so-- ugh!” Sokka slams his fist down on the cushion he’s sitting on. “It’s so obvious-- they knew you’d be coming--”

“There was no way to know the Northern Fire Nation would be invading so openly with their regular troops,” Zuko mumbles. “We couldn’t have known. They must have just defeated our own ships to get past. They’re going to claim they came to protect people, and people will believe them.”

They all lapse into horrified silence. 

After the sun sets Zuko sits on his own bed, in his own room. It has carefully been kept free of dust. It feels foreign and familiar at the same time.

A knock comes at the door.

Zuko opens it to find Sokka, and feels an odd sensation of vague embarrassment. Something about it being strange to have your crush see your room for the first time after you’ve been sleeping in the same bed for weeks.

“Hey,” Sokka says.

“Hey,” Zuko says.

Zuko steps back to let him in. But though Sokka looks exhausted, he doesn’t even sit down on the bed.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Sokka begins. “There’s no way we’ll get any evidence against them fighting this way. Every time we’ll go out to meet them, we’ll play into their hands. Obviously the massacres can’t be allowed to continue, but as long as the Northern Fire Nation is pretending to stop those the Southern army should be able to handle them all right. Right?”

“I guess.”

“So maybe--” Sokka shrugs and squares his shoulders. “Maybe we just have to go straight to the top.”

“What do you mean?” Zuko’s stomach drops. 

“I mean we have to go into the Northern Fire Nation, right to the root of it, and stop them there.”

Zuko has trouble finding his voice for a second. “Sending Katara into the North seems like a terrible--”

But Sokka’s shaking his head. “Not Katara.”

Zuko takes a steadying breath. “Oh. Then. Yeah. I… I can go.”

“We can go.”

“Actually, I was thinking--”

“Nope.”

“But--”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Can’t you let me say something?!”

“Oh, like what?” 

“I don’t want to see you hurt!”

“You think I want to see you hurt? Not gonna happen, buddy. We die, we go down together, not with me moping over you miles and miles away.”

“Why do you want to go so bad?” Zuko explodes, reeling somewhat from what Sokka has just said. 

“Because I can’t let my sister keep getting hurt, okay?”

Zuko quiets, and Sokka sighs. 

“I just-- look, she’s got all this responsibility on her. And I trust her to do what she sets out to do, but-- I want to help her. Be useful for once. You know?”

“Yeah,” says Zuko, voice caught in his throat a little.

“You know the Northern Fire Nation. And I know how to make plans and stuff. We can’t lose.” A note of self-deprecating sardonicism enters his voice, but he sounds serious when he adds, "We can do it."

Zuko nods jerkily, already pulling out ink and paper. "When should we leave?"

“Right now.”

_Went to do a scouting mission. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be back in a little while. Take care of Druk while we’re gone._

_-Sokka and Zuko_


	20. Passages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko sneak around the Northern Fire Nation palace.

With only the two of them, it’s easy to sneak past the border guards. They make their way through acres of rice fields in the silvery light of the waning gibbous moon. The ghost of Zuko’s younger self, fleeing, face bandaged and contorted, seems to swim past him on the backs of his eyelids.

They bounce along behind musty crates in a farmer’s wagon as day breaks.

“So, when we get there, we’ll hide out in the secret passages like you said,” Sokka whispers so that the farmer won’t hear. “We’ll explore and eavesdrop until we figure out where their energybenders and the fake Avatars are going to be. If we can, we capture one of them and bring them back south.”

“And we listen in on their plans so the South can move against them,” Zuko repeats dully. “I know.”

Sokka pauses. “Is it-- weird? Being back here?”

“Yeah.”

Sokka opens his mouth to speak again, but a flicker of conversation reaches them, and they fall silent.

“...just empty crates, sir.”

The sharp sound of heavy steps cutting into soil grows near. One of the crates at the back of the cart is opened, and Zuko catches a glimpse of the red uniform of a government peacekeeper. He takes a step up into the cart, and it wobbles.

Zuko meets Sokka’s eyes. If they’re caught, not only are they fucked, but the farmer will be as well. Of all the carts to get picked for inspection.

They shuffle as quietly as they can into one of the crates while the peacekeeper rummages around closer to the open end of the cart, and then once he turns his back to inspect the side opposite them crawl into a crate he has already inspected. Zuko can feel his heart hammering, can hear the tense, uneven rasp of Sokka’s breathing in the enclosed space as the man moves on to their previous crate. Sokka’s knee is in his ribs. Zuko prays for his elbow not to nudge the lid. 

Younger Zuko had hidden in a cart of a silk merchant when he left. He had been so terrified then that his jaw ached for weeks after with the clenching of his teeth. 

The man seems to straighten up but does not exit the cart, just stands there, and a drop of cold sweat rolls down Zuko’s spine as he pictures the man’s eyes on their hiding place. 

The thump of his boots meeting the ground. “Go ahead.”

The wagon trundles on, but they don’t exit the crate for some time. 

They spend the night in the farmer’s barn, and the next morning walk to the town nearby, where they stow away on another cart heading to the Caldera. No peacekeepers stop them. No travelers uncover them. The clouds open as they reach the city limits.

Zuko’s memories of the city have become hazy, but he could never forget the way to the palace. The rain allows them to seem inconspicuous in hooded cloaks. They force themselves to walk slowly when they come across guards.

They wait on the far side of the palace complex walls before scrambling over, a difficult feat with the rain-slick stones, and run to the entrance of one of the palace’s secret passageways. The patrolling guard is due back any second, and Zuko has a moment of panic before his fingers catch on the button on the boot of the statue of a long-dead Firelord.

A narrow portion of the wall grinds open, but there is only rock behind. It’s been blocked up.

“Shit,” Zuko hisses. “Help me move this.” He shoves at the statue. With their combined efforts it slides across the dampened grass. Rainwater drips into the open half of the shallow pit below its disproportionately large base. 

Zuko motions Sokka in first and then climbs in himself. They dig their fingers into the bottom of the statue and drag it forwards again until they are enclosed in damp, cold earth.

They crawl along the short, narrow tunnel, crossing wood and stone, and come into a more open space, whereupon Zuko fumbles in the low ceiling. Relief floods him as his fingers find the edge of the crooked trapdoor.

They drip rainwater onto the rock as they collapse against the wall inside, panting in the dark.

“I thought you said,” Sokka huffs, “no one uses these passages.”

“No one did when I was here.” Zuko listens intently for signs of pursuit, but none come. “My father or grandfather must have blocked it up after I left. That was an entrance Lu Ten made.”

“At least no one’s in here now. Can you make a light?”

Zuko bends a small flame and half cups his hand over it to minimize the glow. The passage they are in is dusty and cobwebbed, including the back of the passage door. “I don’t think they patrol in here.”

“Yeah, but now they know there’s a possibility someone could get in here.”

They make their way with bated breath along the passage. The sounds of bustling and speech can be heard every now and then. The palace creaks around them.

Eventually a lever at waist height swims into view. Zuko presses his ear to the door, listening hard. 

He presses down on the lever with excruciating slowness, tense with the effort of holding back. At last, enough of a crack has appeared that he can scan the guest room. 

The backs of two chairs shade the door, and across from the chairs are a large bed and a dressing table. There used to be a window in the opposite wall, but now the space houses a thick sheet of metal. Blocking up the passage entrances wasn’t the only change they’d made. 

Zuko opens the door fully, still going slowly, and motions for Sokka to follow him. Before closing the passage door, they cross to the door of the bedroom and listen there. 

Minutes pass, and no one seems to pass by. Every creak of old wood sets Zuko’s nerves on edge. 

“The next passage will take us around most of the palace. We can listen in on the throne room from there.”

“How often do they go in there? The throne room.”

“When I was here my grandfather held councils there every day. I don’t know if he still does, but I’d bet money they’ll be in there at some point before long.” He pauses to listen for a few seconds more. “Let’s go.”

They open and close the door swiftly and start walking as quietly as they can. The hairs on the back of Zuko’s neck are standing up. Zuko bends to listen at the door of another guest room, and when he hears nothing begins to open it just as slowly as he had the passage door. There is no light in the room and no sound of breathing. 

Zuko opens it fully and they dart inside, relaxing once the door has been closed again. They enter another secret passage near the empty bed and find themselves in a dark, dusty passage much like the last one. They go more swiftly now, passing empty hallways to their left from time to time, and eventually come to a dead end. 

Zuko lifts his hand, cradling a flame once more, and the light washes over a dust-caked wall of reliefs which runs into and disappears at the right corner. A dark splotch on the floor marks where nine-year-old Zuko had once fallen and cut his leg. 

“They did some renovations at some point,” Zuko whispers. “This part got covered up and broken over time, and there used to be a part where you could crawl through the reliefs and reach the throne room.” He cranes his neck upward. The large, circular carving of the face of one of Zuko’s long-dead ancestors still sits just where he remembers it.

“It’s the carving of the face, right there.” Zuko points it out to Sokka. “I used to climb around in the wall supports there, but I think the hole is too small for us to get through. If you pull on his nose, it should come right out.”

Sokka snorts and examines the tiny ledges made by parts of the reliefs, scrambling up at one point to test the footholds. But where younger Zuko had been small and light enough to cling, neither one of them could now support themselves for more than a second or two. “Give me a boost.”

Zuko makes a basket with his hands, breathing out a small flame slowly to ensure he can see where he’s going, and lifts him up. Sokka’s fingers scrabble for purchase on the carving of a drooping stalk of rice and hold. Zuko moves under him so that Sokka can rest one foot on his shoulder, wrapping his free hand around one of Sokka’s ankles to steady him.

Sokka has to blow the dust off the carving before he can get a firm grip, wiggling the piece out and reinserting it perpendicular to its original spot so that he can peer out behind it on either side. 

Sokka leans forward to stick his head through the hole, and Zuko tries not to move, both of them listening. 

A minute later Sokka jumps down. “Doesn’t sound like anyone’s in there. Is there anywhere else they would talk about their plans?”

“They might go into their private quarters. But those passages only link to each other.”

“No other way to get in there?”

“No.”

“Then I guess we wait.”

Every so often they hear the dull pounding of footsteps or the murmur of voices through the walls, and every time it makes Zuko clench his shoulders and break out into a sweat, but no one comes to find them huddled in the dark. Every so often one of them will climb back up to the hole to listen for signs of activity in the throne room. They eat a little of the food they brought with them. 

It feels disturbingly final, and Zuko doesn’t know if it’s a trick of his mind or if it truly is some true instinct of danger buried deep beneath. What if he never gets out of this?

“Hey,” he says, hushed. “If I fuck this up, don’t wait for me.”

Sokka stares at him, wide-eyed. “What? No, that is— no way. How could you even think that I— seriously? No. That is not happening.”

“I know exactly what they’re like here. Trust me, if it comes down to it, you won’t want to stay—”

“Just— no— no, no—”

“If we find something that needs to get back, it’s gonna be important that you—”

“You even hearing yourself? There’s no way I would just abandon you.” Sokka throws his hands up in exasperation. 

“Bu—”

“No. There’s no way.”

“You’re not afraid to die, then?” Zuko prods desperately. 

“Of course I’m afraid to die,” Sokka hisses. “But everybody dies. If it’s gonna be here, it’s gonna be here. At least--” He pauses. “At least it was something— worthy.” He snorts at his own words and pushes onwards. “And we’re not dead yet.”

Zuko frowns at him, emotions in turmoil, but Sokka scrambles up. “I’m going to check again.”

He has hardly removed the wooden cutout before Zuko sees his eyes widen. He glances down at Zuko and mouths, “They’re there.”

Zuko strains his ears, and a faint snippet of conversation reaches his ears: “... the way, the Northern front is in place, and we’re ready to…”

Sokka has his head cocked, face halfway through the wall, and Zuko hopes that he can hear more clearly. The snatches he catches are vague and mostly indistinguishable.

Zuko is just beginning to feel a genuine ache in his shoulder from Sokka’s weight resting there when the murmur of voices fades. 

A minute passes and Sokka sighs. “I think they’ve left,” he whispers, starting to shift in order to jump down.

“What did they say?”

“In seven days they’re going to send the fake Avatars into the South, at the border, at towns in between, and then at the capital, and then come after them pretending to defeat them. They’re going to take over.”

There is a slight creak, unlike the other sounds and viscerally near. All of Zuko’s senses seem to sharpen as the small flame in his hand goes out, and he glimpses, far behind them, just around a corner of the passage, a fleeting strip of light. 

Someone else has entered the passage. 

They catch each other’s eyes in a panic. Sokka hurries to climb down but a chunk of wood breaks off under his foot, dropping to the ground, its small thump like a thunderclap. He tumbles against Zuko, and Zuko half catches him around the waist, both of them stumbling back. 

Something behind Zuko gives where it isn’t supposed to, and Zuko’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest— but it’s yet another hallway, this one concealed by a door identical to the rest of the inner passage wall and undetectable in their low light. They scramble through it and shut it behind them as they hurry, breath unbearably loud, and stop when they’ve reached another corner, pressing themselves behind it.

Zuko’s heart is pounding. He can feel the hairs standing up on Sokka’s arm where they brush against each other in the dark. They say nothing, listening hard. 

A tiny sound, small enough that Zuko is unsure it isn’t the blood pounding in his ears, and then a growing glow that they see on the far wall of the corner to their left.

As one they make a beeline right.

Sokka is in the lead, and Zuko has no idea where they’re going. This passage must be new. He thinks furiously about how to handle where they will come out.

The passage is short, and they reach a dead end after a minute. The light is slowly growing closer behind them. Zuko’s nerves scream.

Sokka listens at the door for an excruciating five seconds before pushing it open. 

Zuko feels an awful mix of past and current terror: these are Ozai’s private quarters. The door swings silently shut behind them. 

Sokka is looking at the bedroom door— too far away-- but Zuko points to one of the large wardrobes lining the walls. They just barely manage to shut themselves inside when they hear a step. 

A few minutes pass in silence, and then another person enters, closing the door with a slight tap.

“Is everything ready?” Ozai’s voice, low. 

“Yes.” A crisp answer. “The tools have been prepared, the new hallway is finished, and we eagerly await your new position.”

“Good.” The sound of steps. A flicker of red cloth passes in front of the crack. “What about the assets?”

“Seventy-two of them are ready and waiting. The rest can be dealt with.”

“And the backups?”

The other person hesitates. “Most of them are fine. But some are beginning to cause some trouble. It’s been suggested they be moved to a secure spot aboveground.”

“No. There isn’t time. Increase the guard. The Firelord will approve.”

“Of course. And about the date, Your Majesty?” 

“The twenty-second. As we discussed.”

“Understood. The medicine will be administered and the backups transferred to assets.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

There is the tiniest of tiny creaks as the second person exits, and then the low breathing of one person standing completely still. Quiet steps begin to move first one way, and then the other. Ozai is pacing. 

The other person has long departed when Ozai moves to the doorway again. With his eye pressed to the wardrobe slit, Zuko sees him lightly press on a section of wall, open the door, and enter. 

They don’t dare to move for what seems like ages. Eventually Sokka sighs shakily, and Zuko feels suddenly freed from a curse. He allows his head to thunk against the back wall of the wardrobe and goes to open the door at the same time, but Sokka catches his hand lightly.

“If we’re leaving by the passage, we should make sure he gets out of it first so we don’t spend time in the open. So we’d better just stay here with his pajamas for now.”

Zuko nods, though he’s not sure if Sokka can see him. He makes an effort to focus. “He talked about backups. It sounds like they still have prisoners from the other nations, underground, it seems like.”

“Yeah. That’s where we’ll go next.” Sokka pauses and puts his hand over Zuko’s. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Zuko takes a deep breath and tries not to let the hatred leak into his voice. “Just didn’t expect to see him again so soon.”

“I feel you. After this, hopefully you’ll never have to see him again. Is there anywhere else besides the passages where we could hole up for a while?”

Zuko thinks hard. Somewhere they wouldn’t check. 

There is no secret passage from these rooms to the one that used to be Zuko’s, thankfully. But the passage they entered by does contain an exit relatively nearby.

Zuko leads the way this time, assaulted by memories as he rounds each curve. This area goes past Azula’s room. 

He throws an arm out, and they both stop. Ahead of them on the wall is a small hole shining lamplight into the passage.

As quietly as possible, Zuko creeps up to glance through it. 

It offers a view of Azula’s room. But it is nothing like Zuko remembers it. 

Most of the things in it are broken, from the cracked mirror to the scratched bedframe. Azula herself sits on the chair in front of her dressing table, facing away from it towards a wall. Her hair hangs loose and lank. Her sleeping robe, odd at this time of day, is rumpled. Her gaze is vacant. 

Zuko furrows his brow, confused by the pity that hits him. They’ve installed a peephole to spy on her. He is sure she knows— it is unthinkable that Azula wouldn’t know— and yet she has done nothing. Is this some kind of trick, to appear weak and useless? 

He pulls back from the viewing hole, only to step on a sharp piece of wood that slips and pierces his ankle. He inhales sharply.

Azula lifts her head and looks straight at him immediately. Azula knows about these passages, used them as often as Zuko had during their childhood, and she knows that Zuko knows too. Was that gasp enough for her to recognize him?

She looks away. 

Zuko pulls back and they move on quickly and silently. There’s no use in staying to find out. 

After a quick look out for guards— none— they make a dash to the door of Zuko’s former bedroom and find it unlocked. They slip inside the mercifully dark room. The door clicks shut behind them. Zuko risks bending a small flame.

He’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. Wardrobe, bed, tables, and all look exactly as he left it, just dustier. That is, except for a pile of ash near the bedside table, where he had left his goodbye letter, so long ago he can’t quite remember what he said. He pictures Ozai holding the letter, his hands shaking with rage, hardly able to finish reading before he sets it ablaze, and cringes. 

Sokka’s shoulder bumps his, and he says quietly, “So. This was your room.”

“Yeah,” Zuko croaks. 

Sokka sits on the bed, and a plume of dust goes up. “Pretty fancy place.”

“I guess so.” Zuko sits down next to him. It feels surreal. 

They sit in silence for a precious moment before Sokka begins, “So, here’s what I’m thinking for when we go to look for the kidnapped benders…”


	21. The Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko finally get a close look at the Northern Fire Nation's energybending experiments.

They spend the night uneasily in Zuko’s room and then tail officials around as well as they’re able under the dual pressures of the week’s deadline of the invasion and their risk of being discovered. At some point they steal a couple spare servant uniforms. Their world is quickly becoming mostly dust and cobwebs as they scramble around secret passages.

“One thing’s been bothering me,” Sokka whispers suddenly the next afternoon as they wait for two aides to Azulon to emerge from a briefing room. “What was that ‘new position’ of Ozai’s they were talking about, back in his room? Were they just talking about him taking over the South? Because it didn’t really sound like that. And earlier today, in the war council, they didn’t say anything about any medicine, or about the twenty-second, or about the seventy-two ‘assets’ ready and waiting. Does he have some different plan of his own?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Zuko hugs his knees uneasily in the cramped space. “He’s always wanted more power for himself. He could definitely be planning something completely apart from Azulon.”

Luckily, it seems most of those present during their overheard conversations remain in the palace, and only twice do Sokka and Zuko venture out to snoop around the surrounding villas. They do not dare to return to the passage leading to Ozai’s rooms.

Zuko, taking his turn at the listening hole, fingers aching in their tenuous grip on the wall, finally recognizes the voice of the man who spoke with Ozai two days ago: the Minister of War, a man named Cheng. And not a moment too soon. It is the morning of the twenty-second, the day when Ozai’s unnamed plan begins. 

They scramble away from the wall and back up the passage until they rest just before an exit to another mostly unused room, available in case someone enters the passage. But the slight tapping of footsteps tells them that all the attendees have decided to remain in the main hallways this time. Taking a chance, they follow the smaller sounding group, and when they pass the backside of a painting glance out through its eyes to see another advisor peel away, leaving Cheng walking briskly alone. 

However, he makes a turn at the next corner, turning back towards the royal family’s quarters. Zuko and Sokka lose sight of him for a brief time as they run down the passages to catch him. They spot him again as they come to the end of the passage, near the entrance to the royal quarters. He slips inside. 

After a minute of making sure the coast is clear, they follow. They pass living rooms and dressing rooms, closets and hallways, and still can hear his quiet footsteps above. They pass Zuko’s room and Azula’s. 

Minister Cheng pulls out a key and unlocks the door to what had been Ursa’s room. Zuko stares, a riot of emotions plaguing his mind. He’s seen no sign of his mother for as long as they’ve been here. Has she been there right under his nose? 

Cheng enters the room and closes the door behind him. Inside the room they can hear one distinct, muffled thump, and then a series of taps decreasing in volume. After a minute, the sound of footsteps around the corner forces them to follow him.

All the furniture that Zuko remembers has been removed. His mother certainly isn’t here. In the center of the bare floor sits a metal trapdoor. 

They open it with a subtle creak. A flight of dimly lit stairs descends below them into the earth. 

They follow the staircase down, leaving the trapdoor open above them in case they need to beat a hasty retreat. The stairs turn and twist for some time, making the turn of every corner a risk, and eventually level out and go straight down. Torches on the walls light their way. 

The enclosed space makes Zuko’s spine prickle. If they’re going to get caught, now would be the worst time.

Up ahead they see the beginnings of an open space. They pause while still in the shadows to peer out.

A stone and metal hallway lies before them with a few doors on either side. All of these except one are closed. Light spills out from the open doorway, but the space is quiet. Risking a quick glance, Zuko notices that the room is empty of people, filled instead with a desk and cabinets. Several open scrolls lie open on the desk. 

“I’ll watch,” Sokka whispers, and Zuko darts in to read them.

He bends low to examine it, careful not to move anything. _Seventeenth: One: Colonel Huang. Air, earth completed. Took two minutes extra, due to tenseness of participant perhaps?_ Scratchy notes continue in this vein for some length. Zuko puts his cheek to the surface to try to glimpse the back of the paper. 

A yelp. Zuko freezes, head jerking up. Sokka, in the doorway, is staring off to his left, wide-eyed. Zuko runs up next to him. 

Metallic clanking comes from the same direction, and a shaking sound as if someone is rattling a piece of furniture. “Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” someone says, sounding as if they’re attempting cheer.

Sokka and Zuko wait tensely. Should they leave?

Screaming splits the air, non-stop, blood-curdling, and Zuko flinches, reeling. They rush up the hallway, checking the doors on either side quickly, ears to the metal, but all the while the screaming keeps coming. 

They hit another door at the end. Zuko presses his ear against it and hears the screams awfully near, and then they suddenly stop with the sound of a clear, bony crack.

“Get rid of that, please,” someone calls absentmindedly, and a thump hits the ground..

Zuko can’t stop himself: he lunges for the handle. 

Sokka grabs him and hauls him back, and Zuko’s fingers slip from the knob.

“Let go—” Zuko hisses through gritted teeth. If they’re still alive—

“No,” Sokka snaps, voice wavering. “Didn’t you hear the snap?”

Zuko stills, horrified. 

“All right, so you may feel a little bit of a prickling sensation, Lieutenant Colonel. But don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal…” Minutes tick by. “And there you go. How does it feel?”

“...Strange,” says a gruff voice. “But not bad.”

“You can rest here. You’ll start training later.” This person’s voice sounds tired now.

“So that’s most of them down. We’ll continue with the last one tomorrow evening. What do you think, Minister?” The voice is familiar, curt and high-pitched. 

“Everything seems to be going well.”

Footsteps near them, and Sokka drags Zuko back to the shelter of the stairwell. 

The door swings open, and someone steps into the hallway. The bright light coming from the room behind them obscures their features somewhat, but there is no mistaking: it’s Arsai, the energybender who attacked them under Gim. Both of her hands are encased in thick casts. 

Cheng follows her, and behind them comes a man with a grey beard guiding the apparent Lieutenant Colonel, dressed in his uniform and wobbling. 

“Well, we’ve certainly had lots of practice,” the grey-haired man says, ushering the Lieutenant Colonel into one of the other rooms off the hallway and closing the door after him. “And the more we transfer, the easier it is. It was difficult to work with all the extra guards the past couple of days.”

“I know. But it was a necessary precaution,” says Cheng pointedly.

The remaining three enter the office where Zuko examined the papers and close the door. The door to the room at the end of the hallway remains open.

Sokka leads the way this time, and motions Zuko over after a quick glance. 

In it are two wide beds. One contains five leather straps at each limb and the neck position. The other has no such restraints. A cart with towels, buckets, and other objects sits to the side, next to two chairs. There is a drain in the middle of the floor, and no sign of the screaming person. In a room off to the left they hear quiet conversation from two guards and the stoking of a fire.

They pass quickly through the room when the guards’ backs are turned and open the door to the next room, finding themselves in a chilly, dark corridor. Only two torches are on the walls here. Three rows of cells stretch neatly to the end of the room like library shelves. 

They pause and listen. Quiet weeping comes from the row on the left.

They move cautiously, conscious of the possible return of the guards at any time. At the end of the block three of the cells are filled.

The farthest one on the left side holds three children huddled on the floor. The farthest on the left similarly holds three pale and sickly-looking adults. The nearest one—

Zuko forgets to be silent as he rushes forward, catching himself against the bars. “Mom. _Mom.”_

Ursa looks up, shocked, and rises shakily. “Zuko?” She stares like she can’t believe her eyes. She looks unharmed, but that can’t be the case if she’s down here. 

“Mom— We’re gonna get you out—” He feels hot tears welling up. “Why are you here?”

“Zuko, no— no, you need to get out of here— you need to leave—” She glances at Sokka in confusion, but tries to pry his hands off the bars. “Leave. Please.”

The weeping has stopped. The children in the last cell are watching. “Can you help us?” One croaks. His tattered clothes are Water Tribe blue. 

“We’re gonna get you all out of here,” Sokka promises, curling his own fingers around the bars. “Just hang tight. How often do the guards come in here?”

“A few days ago they were in here all the time. But now that— that it’s just us— yesterday they only came in sometimes, a few times an hour. Usually they stay out there watching the exit.”

“Mom, I’m not going,” Zuko insists, feeling wetness on his cheeks. Her hands are very cold. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“Did Wangmo send you?” another child pipes up timidly. 

Zuko turns reluctantly and with a jolt recognizes Nyima, the child kidnapped from the Southern Air Temple months before. “We’ll bring you back to her,” he manages after a moment of voicelessness. “I promise.”

“Tomorrow,” Sokka says, hushed. “We’ll come get you all and we’ll get out of here. Are there any other exits from this place besides the stairs?”

“No,” whispers Ursa. “And the palace has been on high alert for months. You can’t—”

“Wait, wait!” one of the adults in the next cell hisses. Zuko starts, having almost forgotten about them. “Bring us with you!”

“Who are you?” Sokka asks.

“They’re firebenders. Test subjects the energybenders were experimenting on,” Ursa says.

Sokka takes in a shaky breath. “Okay. We can—”

The sound of footsteps grows loud. 

“We’ll be back,” Zuko hisses desperately, unable to tear his eyes away from the faces of his mother and the captive children. “Tomorrow—”

Sokka tugs him away, and they throw themselves behind the corner of the empty row of cells on the opposite side of the room just as the door opens. 

A guard walks in grumbling to himself and holding a tray of bowls.

Zuko watches him, knowing this is their chance to get out and regroup, but unable to move into action until Sokka physically pulls him towards the door. They scurry past the room where the other guard can be heard sipping something, past the closed doors in the first hallway, and back up the stairs. At the top, breathing heavily, they exit the trapdoor, still open, and close it, bolting down hallways until they’ve closed themselves into another passage. 

“Fuck,” Zuko spits tearfully.

Sokka allows his head to thump back against the wall. “You said it.”

They begin to make their way back to Zuko’s room. But up above, light shines into the passageway, and as they come closer they see that a break exists in the wall. 

Zuko motions for Sokka to stay back and creeps up to glance into the room. 

It’s Azula’s room. She has made a charred rent in the wall, only partially covered by a changing screen.

“I know you’re there.” Azula sits on her dressing table chair, facing the broken mirror.

Zuko freezes, heart pounding. Shit. Shit. 

“Just like Mom, sneaking around in the walls and mirrors. I’m surprised you decided to show up.”

“What?” says Zuko suspiciously. 

He glances at Sokka, farther down the passage, and shakes his head slightly. Sokka’s jaw clenches, but he remains where he is. 

She regards him coolly and does not move from her dressing table chair, still watching him only in the mirror. “Why are you here? Come to claim your place as heir? It won’t work, you know. I’m still the better child around here. I have Father and Grandfather’s trust.”

“Then why are you locked in here?” Zuko chances.

“It’s none of your business how I choose to spend my time!” She picks up a bottle of perfume and throws it at the already broken mirror. 

She stares at the remaining pieces as they tinkle to the table’s surface dripping with perfume, breathing hard. 

Ursa, sneaking around in the walls and the mirrors? Azula has finally broken, hasn’t she?

He stands still, watching her. The signs were there, but it was hard to think that Azula, perfect, competent Azula, would ever truly crack. Zuko is hardly in a position of safety or confidence, but the tables feel as if they have turned.

Azula glares at him. “Why did you have to go and do such a stupid thing, anyway? Shows how much common sense you have.”

Zuko doesn’t answer.

“And you’re still doing it, aren’t you? Look at you.” She snorts quietly. “It’s not a phase, is it? What possessed you to do something so incredibly foolish?” The scorn peters off at the end until she is mumbling to herself curiously. As if a part of her really wants to know.

“It was the only way for me to be,” Zuko says gruffly.

Azula picks up a fallen hairbrush among the many scattered possessions. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Once a traitor, nothing else matters.” She attempts to pull the brush through her hair but gives up upon a particular tangle, throwing it angrily at the bed. “Don’t visit me at night.”

She stares at herself hard in a remaining fragment of glass, eyes wide, and a wave of pity washes over Zuko. Azula’s failure to deal with Katara at this extremely critical phase of the war has clearly not pleased the Firelord. 

He picks his way into the room and takes up the brush. Azula does not move as he approaches. 

He lowers the brush to a knot at the back of her head, testing. 

She sniffs haughtily. “Well? It’s time _someone_ did it.” 

It’s been a long time since he brushed long hair, and never someone else’s, but the gesture is intuitive. She might not deserve it, but he grips her hair away from her scalp so that the brushing out of the knots won’t tug at her skin. 

She goes quiet as he works, and ends up staring down at the dressing table surface, gaze unfocused. 

Zuko finishes brushing and sets the brush on the table. 

“At least you’ve already betrayed me.” Azula starts laughing then, and can’t seem to stop until she starts sobbing angrily. 

Zuko’s hand hovers over her shoulder.

“Get out, get out!” she screams.

Zuko escapes back into the passageway.


	22. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko attempt to finish their secret mission in the Northern Fire Nation palace.

“Why did you talk to her?” Sokka can’t raise his voice, but his whisper is harsh and tense.

Zuko bristles, not least because he doesn’t know why himself. Hope? Pity? Some buried vestige of affection? “She’s not herself. She thought I was a hallucination. I don’t think she’ll tell anyone I was here.”

“We don’t have time for detours like that. People’s lives are at stake here!”

The dim light is a relief, meaning Zuko doesn’t have to look him in the face as he flushes with anger. “We spent months on a detour for your sister. Why is mine any different?” The few days in the passage feel like weeks.

“The circumstances weren’t the same, Zuko! We didn’t have an immediate obligation to other people. We didn’t have to take care of those prisoners.”

“So you’re telling me if it was your sister in that state, you’d walk away?”

“I’m just asking you to be a little more cautious!”

An indistinct thump sounds from somewhere nearby, and they fall silent. But the tension thickens the air between them. Zuko stands, limbs stiff, and after a moment starts trudging off along the passage. He hears Sokka take in a breath as if to say something, but no words come.

Zuko doesn’t have any real goal except to steal a moment alone. He runs his hand along the dull bumps and thick dust on the wall, listening in the dark. They’re living on borrowed time now. He fucking hates being here. But at least he’s doing something-- facing his problems. 

He takes in a deep, slow breath. He’s doing the right thing. He doesn’t have to be afraid of his family anymore. Why _is_ he here?

Is this kind of closure necessary?

He closes his eyes, not that it matters in the dark, and tries to decipher his tangled mess of emotions. 

Reckless? Maybe. 

But Zuko is tired of being intimidated into not doing what he can to make things better.

The scuff of a foot on stone breaks the silence, and he stiffens.

“It’s me,” Sokka whispers. 

Zuko turns to watch his dim outline as he shuffles his feet in the dark.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said-- for you to not see her. I was being a dick. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Zuko jumps at the chance, eager to reconcile. “I should’ve thought it through more. I just...”

“I know.” His hand comes to settle on Zuko’s arm, heavy and warm. “We’re both tired, anyway.”

“Yeah.”

Sokka pauses and says hesitantly, “We cool?” 

His hand slips on Zuko’s arm and Zuko grasps it, squeezes their palms together. “Yeah.”

A moment passes, and Zuko has the fleeting, ridiculous, completely useless thought of who will let go first-- oh, it’s him. 

Too scared to see if Sokka wouldn’t let go.

They both slump to the ground, staying close. 

“I should have asked you-- you okay?” Sokka murmurs. “I mean, that was some pretty fucked up stuff we just saw and-- with your mom…”

“I’m fine.” Zuko focuses on his breathing, tries to regulate his voice catching. “We’re getting her out tomorrow, anyway. So there’s no point in…” He shrugs before remembering they’re in the dark. 

“Yeah. We’ll get her out. We’ll get all of them out. But how are we going to get out of the country with them? We’ve only got until tomorrow evening, so we have to act fast.”

Zuko tries to remember all the routes out of the Caldera. There’s no way they can leave his mother or the others behind, and the testimony of the firebenders who were experimental victims could be what they need to convince the Southern populace of the truth. But the sea nearby is all Northern Fire Nation. And going back the way they came will be difficult if someone knows to look for them. 

They toss ideas back and forth, but after an hour of thought their best idea is to cross over land to the bay in the east, where they may more easily steal a ship to get back. It will require the focused effort of everyone in the group. 

“They’re all so frail-looking-- I don’t know if we’ll be able to make it that far,” Zuko says.

“Well, it’s our best shot, so we have to take it.”

This is a suicide mission.

They scout out the best routes to and from the underground prison, watching who comes and goes through the entrance from nearby. The guards change after a few hours. No sound escapes from below. 

He turns to glance fruitlessly down the passage. He paces slightly. Fear wars excruciatingly with boredom. 

“I’m going to go see her again,” he says, surprising himself. He shakes his head. “I just…”

The dim light-- Zuko gave up on his little light-fires long ago-- allows him only to see the turning outline of Sokka’s cheek and nose silhouetted against the light trickling in from outside. 

“Okay,” Sokka says after a moment, voice carefully nonchalant. 

“I’m not going to talk to her. I just… want to know what to tell my mom.” 

“Yeah.” Sokka stands. “Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“It’d be a worse idea to split up.”

Unease roiling in his gut, Zuko leads the way along the passage that runs next to Azula’s room. But as they grow closer, the light he expects to see from the break in the wall doesn’t show. He slows to run his hand along the wall, and after a minute he feels cool air on his face and his fingers slip out into open air. He takes a hesitant step and spots a strip of light under the door, the only break from the darkness. After listening hard, he holds up a flame in his hand. 

The room is still a mess, but Azula is not here. Her wardrobe is thrown open and empty, the collection of toiletries on the dressing table diminished. 

“She’s not here,” he whispers to Sokka over his shoulder.

He crosses to the dressing table. The hairbrush lies abandoned on the seat, clumps of roughly yanked hair trailing. Did she run away? Somehow Azula doesn’t seem the type.

“Would she tell anyone we’re here?” Sokka says.

“I-- I don’t--” Zuko bites his lip. “If she were in her right mind, she would. But I don’t know if she is. I’ve never seen her act like this before. I mean, it has been years, but she seems unstable.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. We can’t do anything about it now.”

They return to their original spot. 

Along the way a muffled shout makes it way through the walls. “Hey! They need us on the roof!”

Sokka and Zuko slow and press their ears to the wood. 

The second guard asks an unintelligible question.

“Wall guards spotted something flying. Too big to be a bird. Somebody’s setting fires in the southeast corner.”

A chair scrapes and a door slams, and after a moment they move on. 

“An airbender?” whispers Sokka.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” Zuko pauses.

“Even if they are, we can’t go up there. We just have to continue with the plan. Speaking of-- if the guards are busy--” 

Zuko can see the glint of his wide eyes in the dim light from a nearby exit door. Zuko’s heartbeat picks up as he finishes the statement. “...we should go.”

They ease the trapdoor open as quickly and quietly as they can. The sound of guards scurrying by lessens as they move underground. At the bottom of the stairs they find the guardroom again occupied. They hardly have time to approach before one guard exits the room, spots them, and shouts, “Hey!”

A quick fire blast knocks the guard off balance and into a wall, allowing them to force him to the ground with his hands up. The second guard comes barreling in from the room holding the cells and narrowly dodges another fire blast, returning one of his own. Despite this, Zuko is able to catch him in the shoulder, and the man falls back against the wall, glaring. Sokka holds them at swordpoint while Zuko rifles through the guard room to find rope. 

They bind the guards roughly and haul them into the guard room, shutting and blocking the door behind them with a chair, and Zuko feels a growing sense of unease. The guards didn’t even attempt to cry out. And they hadn’t really put up too much of a fight after all. It was almost too easy.

But there’s no time for second-guessing, so they hurry across the experimentation room and into the area containing the cells, having taken the guards’ keys. 

Ursa grips the bars as soon as she sees them. “Zuko-- leave, you have to leave--”

“We’re getting you out, Mom.” Zuko tries one key and then another, metal clicking as he fumbles with the keyhole. 

“No-- they _know_ \-- they offered one of the test subjects a deal and--”

Zuko’s blood runs cold and he whips around to count the firebending prisoners. One, two. They slump in resignation.

The door to the cells swings open and hits the wall with an ominous thump. Soldiers can be seen in the hallway behind. In the front, silhouetted by the light and face in darkness, stands Ozai. 

“So the rumors were true.” Ozai takes two steps forward and regards Zuko coldly, letting the door shut behind him, blocking the waiting soldiers out. “My failure of an oldest child has returned.”

Zuko tenses, dropping the keys into his pocket to free his hands.

Ozai glances in appraisal at Sokka and sniffs dismissively. “And in the company of a barbarian, too. You’ve turned out even more disappointingly than I expected. What did you hope to accomplish here?”

“I came here to help end the civil war. You’re destroying the Fire Nation, and I won’t let you spread your hatred and cruelty to the rest of the world too,” Zuko spits. The adrenaline seems to sharpen every minute shift of cloth, every tremor of Ozai’s laugh.

“After your outburst in the war meeting, your presence brought shame to the entire family. You did me a favor by fleeing. You’re going to wish you had stayed away.”

“Ozai, let him go.” Ursa’s voice goes steely. “We can make a deal--”

“Silence,” Ozai snaps. 

“I went for you!” Zuko shouts, unable to keep it back, fists trembling. “I went to try to bring Uncle Iroh and Lu Ten back for Azulon’s punishment. To make _you_ proud. But while I was there, I realized that _you and Azulon_ were the ones destroying our country, and _they_ were right. I don’t care about what you think anymore.”

“You don’t have the luxury of not caring what I think.” Ozai advances slowly, hands folded behind his back, and Zuko resists the urge to back up. “What happened here will seem like a vacation compared to your punishment.”

“Is that what you did to Azula? For failing to kill the Avatar?”

Ozai’s lip curls. “Azula is undergoing corrective training. I wouldn’t dream of expending the same effort on you.”

A muffled shout sounds from outside the door, breaking the spell of their confrontation, and Ozai pauses. “Guards!”

Five seconds pass, and then a hearty slam rocks the door. 

Without turning his back, Ozai flings the door open.

Unconscious bodies litter the floor and slump against the walls. Smoldering rubble from the walls and floor lies in excised chunks. The air that rushes in is warm and dusty.

In the middle of the room stands Azula, sleep clothes rumpled, hair a mess again, eyes wild. “It was you who put me in that metal room, wasn’t it?” she pants. 

Ozai takes the carnage in stride. “Azula, what’s gotten into you?”

“You don’t think I can handle it, do you, Father? But you haven’t really given me a chance.” Azula’s expression contorts in pain and anger. “I followed your orders, but I could have gotten her if I’d gone my own way, if I hadn’t pulled back when you told me to.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Go back to your roo--”

“And that made me realize!” Azula laughs a little, a chilling, wheezy sound, and enters the room. “Is locking me away the best way to bring us to victory? You have an alternative plan, Father.” She points at him unsteadily. “You’re going to get rid of me just like you’re going to get rid of Grandfather. The Northern Fire Nation’s success isn’t your concern. You just want to be Firelord! But I’ll show you-- I will go down there and kill the Avatar myself! And when I get back, I can deal with Grandfather.” Her eyes narrow even as they glimmer with tears. “And you won’t have the chance to betray us again. I’ll be the greatest Firelord in history! No one will be able to betray us again. You deserve this, Father.”

A single beat of silence. Zuko has the fleeting thought that this is the first time in a decade that the four of them have been in the same room. 

“You idiotic brat,” Ozai snaps belatedly. “Get out of--”

Azula’s lightning strike barely misses Ozai, crackles past Sokka’s shoulder, and hits the far wall with a crack. One of the children screams. 

Ozai moves to return in kind, but part of the ceiling caves in, blocking his way with a mound of rubble. 

“The keys!” Sokka’s voice is barely audible over the falling rocks and screams as he grabs Zuko’s shoulders.

Zuko yanks them out, ripping his pocket in the process, and starts frantically trying each one in the lock. Ursa’s opens first, and then the children’s cell, and as part of the wall gives way the bars bend with a screech, enabling the firebending prisoners to scramble out. Dust fills the air as they huddle in the middle of the room, Azula blocking the exit.

“This-- is your-- fault!” Azula screams, voice cracking and hoarse. Each word is punctuated by another blow leveled at Ozai-- a thrown piece of rubble, an overpowering gust of wind, another bolt of lightning.

Zuko grips Nyima’s shoulder as the walls shake. 

“The entire thing is going to cave in!” Sokka shouts. “We need to leave!”

“Over my dead body!” hisses Ozai, taking precious attention away from Azula to throw an arc of fire across their path.

Azula hits him with a block of earth directly in the chest, pinning him between the rock and the wall with a wheeze. 

“I’m going to be the best Firelord who ever lived!” Tears make tracks through the grime on Azula’s face. And then she just screams, wordless, shrill, instinctive. Zuko’s eardrums pulse.

“Azula!” Ursa moves forward, but she trips on a rock. Zuko catches her.

Azula glances at Ursa in horror. Her eyes meet Zuko’s and she takes a step towards him with a snarl-- but her eyes flick back to Ozai, who begins to push his way upright, cursing, and she’s lunging forward--

Fire flares as Ozai screams, and Zuko and Sokka don’t wait, dragging the children across the patch of ruined earth and into the next room, towards the exit. Zuko, bringing up the rear of the group, grips his mother’s arm even as he stares back at the mess and the firelight.

“Wait-- Azula--” Ursa pants, tugging away even as they hit the bottom stair.

“We have to go,” Zuko says, pulling her with him. 

“But--”

They hit the top of the stairs into an excited corridor full of guards hurrying towards the source of the noise. 

Ursa pulls away reluctantly. “I can’t leave her.”

Some of the guards in the hall are just starting to rush towards them when a hissing cuts through the noise. 

“It’s back--!” someone calls around the corner, and a jet of fire sends the guards scattering. Into the fray swoops a small red dragon, wings extended, snapping at every guard within reach. A keyring dangles from one claw. 

“Druk!” Zuko hardly has time to say his name when the dragon nearly bowls him over. “Y-You followed us?”

The flying thing-- the fires that the guards were worried about--

Druk leads the way around the corner. Zuko looks back, registering that Ursa has not moved, and turns to run back for her.

The door to the trapdoor room is blasted off its hinges, and Azula emerges. She stares wide-eyed at Ursa, who reaches for her, and then backs away, charging off to their left.

“Mom-- we have to go--” And when Zuko’s begging doesn’t convince her, her feet still rooted to the spot, he tries, “She’s going to go south anyway. She wants to kill the Avatar. We have to get there before she does.”

Teary-eyed, Ursa allows Zuko to pull her away. 

They barrel through the palace to a minor exit where Druk scares away the remaining guards long enough for them to run through. Crashing and shouting fills the air, muffled at first, and then closer as they help each other jump the wall. It seems Azula has made her way out of the palace.

Their journey through the city consists of droves of murmuring citizens and wary guards who don’t accost them, the Earth Kingdom child squeezing too tightly around Zuko’s neck, and the sound of chaos coming behind them, closer and closer. They are slow with the weakened state of the former prisoners, but at last the docks come into view. They have reached the waterfront.

So has Azula. 

Yelling and splashing comes from farther down the dock, and the first beginnings of a fire begin to bloom on a ship across the way-- soldiers pound past them-- one small sailboat is unattended as the workers gawk at the fire-- 

It all seems to speed by until Zuko is standing too close to the edge of the boat, watching as yet another structure catches fire, the child an unnoticed weight still on his back. The shore of the Caldera fades slowly into the distance.


	23. Azula's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko catch up with Azula after their flight from the Northern Fire Nation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a half chapter this time guys, sorry about that. Trying to work out some pacing issues before we really make it into the home stretch. Thanks for sticking with me!

They catch up with Azula just outside the port city where they land. The jungle around is smoking and trashed, tree trunks snapped and leaves strewn all over. The Southern Fire Nation army herds people away from the area. 

“I’ve gotta go find her,” Zuko says. A flock of birds explodes into the air, squawking, as a tree seems to fall.

“Mom, can you stay with the kids and--”

But Ursa is shaking her head. “No. I need to come with you. I need to see her.”

“But Mom-- you’ve been in prison for-- I don’t know how long, and--”

“I’m not going to fight her.” Ursa’s tone is sorrowful. “I want to talk to her.”

Zuko nods reluctantly. 

“I’ll stay with them,” says Sokka. He looks around and points out a square where a crowd of people have gathered, murmuring and watching the treetops shake in the distance. “We’ll stay here.”

As Ursa and Zuko continue towards the outskirts of the city, Druk flying alongside, the destruction becomes clearer. The missing shingles on some of the houses and the deep ruts in the roads testify to Azula’s passing. They shove their way through an army line and keep going, ignoring their shouts. Zuko glances back to find his mother keeping pace, to his relief.

They break out into a clearing where leaves are smoldering and boulders lie on top of smashed plants as if recently flung there.

Opposite Azula stands Katara, to Zuko’s surprise. 

“Azula!” calls Ursa as they skid to a stop. “You don’t have to do this.”

Both women start as they notice their company.

Azula’s bloodshot eyes dart between Ursa, Zuko, and Katara for a moment as if trying to decide which of them are truly there before she sneers halfheartedly. “You lost any say in what I do a long time ago.”

“I know I wasn’t there for you when I should have been.” Ursa steps forward, heedless of Azula’s glare and fighting stance. “I should have been more careful-- and I’m sorry. I want to help you. Please stand down, Azula.”

Katara shifts slowly towards Ursa, watching for an attack from Azula with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

“No! I don’t _need_ this!” Azula flings a hand out and sets a fern ablaze without noticing. “I don’t need you!”

“You don’t have to follow Ozai and Azulon!” says Zuko.

“I’m not following them! _I_ will be Firelord. I’m following my own path!”

“Are you?” Zuko snaps. “Why do you even want to kill Katara? It doesn’t have to be this way. We can have peace!”

“No such thing exists,” Azula hisses. “Don’t be naive.”

“Azula,” calls Ursa desperately, “Please, I love you.”

“Then why are you working against me?!”

“They’re right,” says Katara sincerely, starting to relax her stance. “I don’t want to hurt you, Azula. We don’t have to fight.”

“You wish I would believe that! You just want me to lower my guard so you can stab me in the back.”

Druk slithers between Zuko and Katara and makes his way into the center of the clearing, towards Azula. 

“Druk!” Zuko calls in sudden panic.

Druk ignores him and continues on his way.

Azula stares at Druk, anger and confusion chasing each other across her face. Druk manages to get within attacking distance, but instead bumps up against her legs, winding his tail around her. 

“Get off,” Azula snaps belatedly. 

Druk sits down next to her and looks at her.

Azula blasts the ground next to him with fire. “Go away!” 

Druk moves a couple of feet away and sits back down.

Azula stomps farther away. “So this is yours? You sent it to free me, to what-- mess with my mind?”

Zuko recalls the key ring Druk had been carrying just after Azula appeared in the dungeon and suddenly realizes what happened. 

“No. He did that himself. Because he wanted to.” Zuko takes a cautious step forward. “You don’t have to believe what they told you. Things can be different. Better. Trust me, I’ve gone through it all already.” He’s unable to keep his tone from turning a little bitter towards the end. 

“We can make the Fire Nation a better place. We can do it together. We don’t have to conquer anyone.” Zuko takes a deep breath and extends a hand to her, even though past experience screams at him to retract it. 

Azula looks at it as if it’s a cockroach-snail floating in her soup, but she falters in readying a blow. 

“You don’t have to live like this,” says Zuko softly.

Azula can’t seem to tear her eyes away from his hand. “I--” A second passes, and then she points imperiously at Katara. “Get her out of here.”

A flash of annoyance crosses Katara’s face, but she begins to exit gracefully, retreating towards the city. “Will you be all right?” she says quietly.

“Yeah.” Zuko doesn’t take his eyes off Azula.

“Azula…” begins Ursa.

Azula ignores her.

As Katara disappears, Azula snorts. “So what do you want then, _Zuko?_ You want me to help you turn the country into a big circle where we all hold hands and sing a little song?”

“No. I want to stop the fighting! This war has been going on for a hundred years, and who has it helped? All it’s done it tear us apart, and if we don’t stop Azulon it’ll happen to the whole world. It doesn’t have to be the way it was when we were growing up. We can make a _choice_ to stop it.” He pauses. “The Avatar stands for peace and unity. Isn’t that what a good ruler should want for their people?”

Azula curls her lip but says nothing.

“We don’t have to go it alone. You don’t have to go it alone.” He extends his hand again. “I promise.”

Druk chirrups, and Azula glances at him, and then at Zuko. “Bold of you to assume I’d trust the promise of a traitor.” She glances at her own hands. “But I guess I’m a traitor now too.”

Zuko shrugs. “At least you’ll get someone to fix your hair.”

“All right.” Azula sighs, putting her hands on her hips. “Take me to Great-Grandmother. And put your hand down, you look like an idiot.”

They borrow eelhounds from the army, but make the rest of the journey to the capital alone, at Azula’s wary insistence. Zuko shares an eelhound with her, allowing her to steer, and watches her the whole way. She seems to be getting back some of her stability, or at least hiding it better. They are stared at as they enter the capital, but they reach the gates of the palace unhindered. They are led inside, where Iroh runs up to meet them. “Zuko! I’m so glad you made it back safe!” He catches Zuko in a hug as soon as Zuko dismounts, and Zuko slumps into the embrace a little, unaware how tense he had still been. 

Iroh pulls away and pauses, blinking in surprise. “Ursa! You’re here-- and Azula! This is a surprise.”

Azula sneers down from the eelhound. 

“I didn’t mean an unpleasant surprise.” Iroh examines her. “What brings you here?”

“Azula is--”

“I’m seeing what you have to offer me.” Azula dismounts. “On a trial basis only.”

Iroh looks to Zuko. Zuko nods. 

As they enter the palace, the flutter of nervous voices meets them, and around the corner storms Iling herself, surrounded by a cluster of officials struggling to keep up. She draws up short when she sees Ursa and Azula. Her eyes flick to Zuko and Sokka. “What do you have to say for yourself?” she hisses.

“We did what had to be done,” says Sokka, shoulders back. “In three days they’re going to send the Avatars into the South and follow them with the army. They’re going to take the palace.” He motions to the former prisoners. “We rescued the rest of the kidnapped benders they were using to create Avatars, and we have two Northern Fire Nation citizens who were used as experimental subjects. If they testify, the people will be much more likely to believe that the North--”

“You entered the North without my permission!” explodes Iling. “Did you give any thought to my plans, to the movements of _our_ army?! Your little field trip could have cost everything!”

“So you think we should just have sat there and done nothing while the fake Avatars massacred people and the North’s army followed them here? We needed to act fast, or more people were going to die!” Zuko holds his ground.

Iling takes a deep breath and rubs her temples. “Well, what’s done is done,” she says through gritted teeth. “All you’ve done is nearly cost me my entire life’s work.” She eyes the former prisoners and jerks her head at one of the officials, and then turns to sweep back down the hall.

The official calls for servants, who guide Ursa, the children, and the experimental subjects away. Another takes Azula, who exits with her head held high even as the torn and singed edges of what had been her sleep robes drag on the floor.

The two of them are left standing in the middle of the hallway, grubby and confused.


	24. Kitchen and Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Sokka adjust to being back before the Northern Fire Nation invades.

Iling shuts herself away with Iroh and all of her senior officials and advisors, leaving the rest of them to halfheartedly attempt any personal activities they can think of. Zuko barely has time to mention the surreality of himself, his mother, and Azula all groomed and resting safely under the same roof before first Ursa and then Azula are summoned to an audience with the Firelord, and Zuko and Sokka are left to mill about uselessly, answering Katara, Toph, and Suki’s questions. Lu Ten hovers nearby, checking in on them every so often like an anxious babysitter. 

“Hey, by the way,” starts Sokka with a slight edge in his voice, “how did Druk get out? We told you guys to take care of him.”

“You of all people should know he’s slippery,” says Toph, kicking her feet up and rubbing dirt onto a velvet footstool. “And besides, he’s not that small anymore. If he really wants to go somewhere, it’s sort of hard to stop him. And he’s fine anyway.”

“But--”

“You’re lecturing us about responsibility?” says Katara dangerously, crossing her arms. “After you guys just up and left to break into the Northern Fire Nation palace by yourselves?”

“We had to go,” mutters Zuko.

“Did you, though?” says Suki quietly. “We could have helped you. But you just left.”

“Yeah, well--” Sokka gets up and starts pacing. “It was just-- we didn’t want to worry you.”

An uncomfortable silence falls. Suki and Katara exchange glances.

After a tense minute Toph blurts, “Well, somebody say _something._ If we’re about to go to war I don’t want to do it awkward.”

Lu Ten pokes their head in. “Zuko? Sokka? The Firelord wants to see you.”

They spend hours detailing every aspect of their experience in the North to Iling and a quartet of officials and advisors, voices growing hoarse as they repeat timelines and observations under their watchful stares. Iling neglects to scold them, choosing instead to gaze imperiously just slightly to the side of their faces. 

At the end they are sent out with strict instructions not to leave the palace and followed by guards back to the living room where their friends wait.

“What’d she say?” says Toph.

Sokka sinks onto a chair, rubbing his temples. “She just asked us everything that happened.”

“Look,” begins Katara firmly, “it sort of hurts that you didn’t confide in us. But we have to work as a team.” Her confident air tells Sokka that the three of them discussed this in their absence. “We want to help you. And we’ll need your help too. Will you tell us what you’re going to do?”

Sokka’s voice catches a little in his throat, and he exchanges a glance with Zuko. “Uh-- yeah. Of course. We are sorry, Katara. It just… seemed like the best option at the time.”

The flurry of movement that envelops the palace marks the beginning of a new phase of the war. By afternoon an emergency draft goes out. The same day they are listening to the two experimental prisoners give public speeches on their experience from the balcony used to address the public, voices still shaky in the mostly silent public square.

In the room behind, Sokka, Zuko, and their friends listen to their testimony. A soldier enters the room and bends to whisper to Iling. 

Iling’s jaw tightens as the former prisoners’ voices trail off and a swell of talk rises from outside. “Assemble the council again,” she says to Iroh. She rises to emerge onto the balcony and address the people, to confirm that the North is at fault for the “Avatar” attacks.

Iroh turns to the soldier. “News from the front?”

“The North has crossed the border with an army. Thirty thousand strong at least.” The woman’s expression is carefully neutral, but a hard edge remains to her voice. “More Avatar attacks are occurring in the western towns. They claim that’s where they’re heading. But with a force that strong, they’re most likely headed here.”

The others make small exclamations of dismay. 

Zuko rises from his chair, the legs scraping loudly. “They moved up their invasion date. They _know_ we got here and that we knew their plans, so they’re moving it up to catch us off guard.”

Sokka glances off the balcony at the packed square, at the curious and as yet unconvinced multitude. “Even if the military has the numbers, the truth might not get out in time. They’ll be able to convince everyone that they’re in the right.”

With that, the palace kicks into overdrive as the numbers of soldiers around increase, as officials hurry to and fro with orders, as Katara argues loud enough to be heard through the door with Iling about where she should be sent. 

Sokka catches Zuko’s eye at this last incident and jerks his head towards the door, mindful of the guards still tailing them around. 

But Zuko shakes his head slightly. “I don’t like war meetings,” he mutters so quietly that Sokka can barely hear him. 

An unsteadiness is in his voice that reminds Sokka of his confrontation with Ozai in the dungeons, so Sokka doesn’t press the issue. Katara seems to be holding her own anyway. 

Lu Ten relays to them sympathetically that the two of them are ordered to remain in the palace, to fight only at the uttermost end of need. Iling does not trust them, and it galls Sokka to be penned up like a grounded child. They brought back essential information. They brought back _Azula._ Surely those count for something.

Long after the others have gone to bed, Sokka remains in their little common room, blinking at the ceiling and turning over the information in his mind. He glances at Zuko, his only companion at this point, who is sitting with his head in his hands.

Sokka scoots his chair over noisily until they’re across from each other, knees touching. “What’s up?”

“Everything,” sighs Zuko. 

“That’s fair.”

Zuko glances up at him through his bangs. “After all this shit, everything might be ending tomorrow. This whole country might be ending. It seems so fast, and I don’t… I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Yeah. Me neither.” Sokka rubs his eyes. “It’s… it’s been a lot.” 

“What about you?”

“Huh?” Sokka doesn’t usually get asked this. “Uh… Well, if the South loses, the Water Tribe might be next on the chopping block, so… that’s there.” 

Zuko nods, lowering his hands, and for a moment they sit silently, marinating in their own fear. 

Sokka rests his fingers on Zuko’s hand lightly, pulse quickening. “You know, I uh--” His stomach grumbles loudly.

Zuko smiles a little. “I guess we didn’t really eat today.”

“...Yeah.” Sokka laughs a little, allows the change in subject reluctantly. 

“We can go to the kitchens.”

The guards loitering outside the door don’t stop them, but they do silently follow. Sokka does his best to ignore them as Zuko leads them down hallways, descending until they hit a homey room with a rounded stone roof and windows high up on the walls. 

Zuko cocks his head in curiosity at the candles flickering in the far corner, where a guard sits watching the door of a nearby storeroom. 

Azula emerges from the storeroom, holding a bowl of cherries. She pauses when she sees them, face unreadable, and sits on one of the high counters, crossing her legs. “Oh. It’s you.”

Zuko doesn’t respond, frowning.

“Not going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?” says Zuko.

“Well, preferably, that you’re going to leave.” She crunches into a cherry. “Go on. I’m sure you’re eager to report back to the authorities that I’m being a good girl and staying put.”

The guards who followed Sokka and Zuko nod to the one in the corner and retreat to sit near the door. 

“Not everything is about you,” snaps Zuko. “You’re not the only one allowed to be hungry.” He stomps over to the pantry. 

Azula’s eyes follow him, and then she turns her gaze to Sokka. “So who _are_ you? Some sort of servant?”

“No,” says Sokka curtly, overlapping with Zuko. He adds, “The chief of the Southern Water Tribe is my dad. I’m Sokka.”

Zuko emerges holding a rasher of bacon and a pan, which he grips somewhat aggressively. “He’s my friend. The Avatar is his sister.”

“Oh! A family history of meddling, then.”

“You’ve got a real knack for being insulting, don’t you?” says Sokka.

Azula shrugs carelessly and spits out a pit. “Only to those who deserve it.”

“Leave him alone,” Zuko snaps. He slams the pan onto the stove and lights a fire. Glancing warily at Azula, Sokka picks up a candle and enters the massive pantries himself to look around.

“What are you doing?” he hears Zuko grumble quietly.

“I’m eating, Zuko. Are you blind now as well as an idiot?”

“I mean what are you going to do? About all this?” 

Sokka pokes through bags of rice, listening. 

Silence falls for a moment. 

“What do you want me to say, Zuko? That I’ve had a complete change of heart and am now going to devote myself fully to worshipping the Avatar for the rest of my life?”

“I want you to tell me the truth. Did you believe what I said?” 

More silence.

“I don’t know.” Azula’s voice is quiet. “I don’t know, Zuko. You want honesty? I’ve shattered all of my future prospects and this is where I’ve ended up. We’ve become… similar, like that.”

“Is it better here than before?”

“That remains to be seen,” Azula says loftily.

Sokka emerges with some leftover egg tarts just as Zuko is removing the bacon from the flame. They sit at one of the long, empty counters. The tarts are sweet and soft, the bacon crisp and salty; in the peaceful quiet it’s one of the best meals he’s had in months.

Zuko holds the pan out to Azula. “Here.”

Azula raises an eyebrow, but she deigns to approach and nibble on a piece, perching on the counter nearby instead of taking a chair. 

The kitchen door opens, and a muttering Iling enters. She pauses upon seeing them. Then she grunts. “I’m not the only one up, hm?” She crosses to one of the pantries, and her voice becomes muffled as she seems to descend a set of steps. “Stressful times we live in.”

She emerges with a bottle of baijiu in each aged hand and sits heavily near them with a sigh. She takes a hearty swig from one of them and makes a shooing motion at the three guards, who obediently retreat out the door, shutting it behind them.

Iling considers them all, frowning. She takes another swig and begins contemplatively. “Did you know I was about your age when I was married to Sozin?” She taps her fingernails against the bottle. “I was so young. He’d never had any children with his first wife, and he needed an heir to continue his conquest. And I was nominated to provide that.”

Sokka glances at the others: Azula is listening with one eyebrow raised, while Zuko looks stunned. Sokka guesses she doesn’t open up about this much.

Iling takes another drink, but her words remain articulate and serious. “Our marriage lasted exactly eleven months. It wasn’t a hardship to kill the old man. But I did not do it lightly. I knew I’d be fighting to hold on to power until the end of my life. I didn’t expect that my son would be taken away from me, that most of that time I’d be fighting against my own family, my own son, but I accepted the sacrifice. I knew I’d be going it alone.”

She opens her mouth, but a second passes before she seems to find the words. “I’ve been-- tough on you. When you’ve shown that you take this just as seriously as I have, that you’re willing to do whatever it takes.” She pats Zuko’s shoulder gruffly and gives Sokka a nod. Her eyes move to Azula. “You’ve made your own sacrifices. And I recognize the integrity in that.”

She swirls the spirits in the bottle absently. “I haven’t seen my son in a hundred and five years. But he may have made up for it, since he produced such a loyal and dedicated batch of lieutenants.” She clears her throat and finishes the first bottle, standing and taking the second in hand. “Remember that.”

She leaves the room, and a few seconds later one of the guards enters and takes up his old post. But only one. 

On their way back they see Iling’s area of the palace still resolutely lit up, the soft murmur of conversation rising and falling as they pass. The rest of the palace is quiet. 

They return to the common room they used earlier, where they find Druk curled up on a sofa in a mound of pillows. If Sokka listens, he can hear soft breathing coming from the other rooms where their friends and Ursa are sleeping. At least one of them is awake judging from the light under the door. 

Sokka opens one of the other rooms off of the common room to find it dark and empty. He turns to glance at Zuko. “So, are you… you wanna… hang out?” Silly, to phrase it like that when they’ve been sleeping in the same bed whenever they have a bed, but he doesn’t know what to say.

Zuko nods and follows him in. 

Despite what Sokka said, they each ready themselves for bed silently, exhausted. All Sokka really wants to do is sleep, but he’s not sure his mind will let him.

He closes his eyes. The silky smoothness of the borrowed pajamas and the ticking of a clock somewhere are not enough to distract him. Somewhere there is an army approaching, at camp maybe until the sun rises but approaching nonetheless, that seems it will change everything for better or for worse, and at present there is nothing he can do about it.

The bed dips next to him as Zuko settles in and the light through his eyelids goes out. 

“So.” Sokka searches for something to say, something Zuko will talk about with little prompting. “Are there any good theatre companies around here?”

“Huh?” says Zuko slowly. “I mean-- yeah but-- I don’t know if they’d be performing right now because of the invasion--”

“No, no, I just-- I’m just curious.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. There’s one that usually performs around this area, the Green Dragon Theatre Company, that has the best actors. Some of the other ones have more money, but I think they’re the best one. I saw them do-- _Flowers in June,_ I think-- last year…” He trails off. “What are you asking about theatre companies for?”

“I just like hearing you talk about stuff.” 

“Oh.” Zuko sounds embarrassed. A pause lengthens. “Are you anxious?” he says tentatively.

“Maybe a little,” Sokka admits. A lot. He hears Zuko take a deep breath.

“Well-- the-- in _Flowers in June,_ the lead actor’s performance was really good, and…”

Sokka listens for he doesn’t know how long, drifting, interjecting “Yeah”s and “Uh-huh”s as needed. Zuko has shifted to the politics of the various companies when he interrupts himself with a yawn.

“Sorry, man. I’m keeping you up,” says Sokka.

“No. It’s okay…” Zuko yawns again.

Sokka laughs quietly. “Thanks.” He pats around on the covers until he finds Zuko’s hands, warm, and squeezes them. 

Zuko squeezes back. One hand pulls away to ghost up Sokka’s arm, bumping gently against his cheek and resting there. “Hey, I…”

Sokka’s heartbeat quickens. He’s wanted this for a while. He nestles his cheek more completely into the palm of Zuko’s hand. “Yeah?” Zuko’s fingers twitch against his skin.

Their breathing seems loud.

“Can I kiss you?” Zuko eventually croaks.

“Yeah,” Sokka whispers.

They move in at the same time, and in the dark clumsily bump noses, teeth clacking together, but then they adjust and it’s softer, comfortable, slow and warm and close. At last they break for breath.

Sokka starts giggling at the mess of tangles he’s worked his fingers into. 

“What’s so funny?” breathes Zuko. 

“My hand is stuck in your hair.” 

Zuko chokes out a laugh, and they giggle in the dark, forehead to forehead, euphoric.

“I guess I really can’t go far, then.”

“Good.”


	25. The North's Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northern Fire Nation armies invade the South, attempting to take the capital.

The first thing Sokka feels when he wakes up is something heavy over his middle. He frowns a little as he swims back to consciousness, wondering if this is a dream. What is it?

At once he remembers and his eyes fly open. The weight is Zuko sprawled over his chest. Sokka watches the mismatched rise and fall of their chests. He feels his face split into a grin. “Perfect.”

Zuko groans and turns to press his face into Sokka’s chest. “Wha’ you talkin’ about?”

“You,” Sokka responds sweetly.

Zuko makes another grumbling noise, and the tips of his ears go red.

Sokka laughs a little. Zuko sighs and lifts his head. For a moment they regard each other. 

Zuko leans forward to press a kiss to Sokka’s jaw. 

Sokka responds by peppering kisses all over his cheeks, scar included, and Zuko laughs, surprised. 

After a few moments Zuko pushes him away gently. “Wait. What are we?”

Sokka’s eyebrows go up. “Wow. Coming right out with it, huh?”

Zuko shrugs as best he can in their position.

“What do you want to be?”

Zuko holds his gaze, a slight flush still on his face. “I want to date you.”

Sokka feels himself flush in response. “Good. ‘Cause I want to date you too.”

They both break into shy grins. 

“So we’re boyfriends, then?” says Zuko a little breathlessly.

Sokka likes the sound of that. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re boyfriends.”

Sokka is studying the gold of Zuko’s eyes, and they’re leaning in again, when a sharp banging on the door makes them jump.

Zuko sits up off of Sokka, and they glance at each other before stumbling out of bed. Sokka rips the door open. 

“Is the Avatar here?” says a guard, looking vaguely peeved in the early dawn light. His eyes rove over their rumpled appearances and into the room behind them. 

“Wh-- no,” Sokka sputters in vague embarrassment. “She’s in one of the other rooms. I don’t know--”

The guard exhales hard through his nose. “I have been knocking on all these doors for five minutes. No one knows where she is?” Druk pokes his head into the room from behind the guard, knocking him off balance.

Ursa emerges from the room across the common room, tying the sash of a dressing gown around her waist, and approaches them. “Which ones did you already check? I can help.” Her eyes fall on Sokka, and then on Zuko with surprise, and Sokka wishes briefly for the earth to swallow him up. A glance at Zuko shows him approaching the shade of his tunic.

But she turns her attention to the guard as he indicates the farther half of the rooms, and they separate to go to the ones left unchecked.

Zuko and Sokka follow sheepishly, Druk trotting along at their heels. The door two to their left is ajar, and inside they can hear a snoring that must be Toph. Sokka suspects the guard’s annoyed state is partly due to her telling him to fuck off and going back to sleep.

Another door opens, and Suki pokes her head out. “Are you looking for Katara?”

“Yes,” bites out the guard.

Suki crosses to the room next to hers, the one that Sokka and Zuko saw lit up the night before, and knocks. “Katara?”

Katara answers almost immediately, bleary-eyed but tense. 

“The Firelord needs to see you. The Northern armies are on the move again. They slaughtered General Huang’s army. They’ll be here by noon, maybe sooner.”

“Take me to see her,” says Katara, and they exit immediately.

The warm feeling of their ensconcement in bed has dissipated, and Sokka remembers, oh yeah, they’ll be fighting for their lives today. 

Rather than face Ursa, Sokka tows Zuko over to Toph’s room and pushes the door open. “Toph, get up.”

“Fuck off,” mumbles Toph.

“The North’s coming.”

Toph lifts her head after a moment, hair sticking out in every direction. She rubs her eyes. “Oh… so we’re really doing this, huh?”

“Don’t act so careless about it,” snaps Zuko.

“Not careless, Sparky, just tired.” Toph yawns and crawls out of bed, stretching. “Point me to whoever’s ass I have to kick. I’m ready.”

“We should probably find Iling or Iroh,” says Ursa.

Sokka glances at her cagily to find her smiling softly at him. There is no condemnation in her gaze.

“Let’s go,” Suki says from behind them. 

“...have no choice,” Iling is saying when they catch up with Katara.

Iling glances at them but does not comment as they all file into the room. She is pale but alert.

“I understand,” says Katara seriously.

“Where are you going?” says Suki, stepping forward.

“The regular army isn’t holding up against the fake Avatars. So now it’s time for me to step in.” Katara offers a shaky smile. “Hopefully I can stop them, or at least slow them down before they get here.”

“You shouldn’t go alone--” Sokka starts.

“No, she shouldn’t. But you will stay here.” Iling levels a stern look at all of them. “The Northern armies are heading here. We need as many defenders as possible to remain in the city. This is where we’ll make our final stand. If we separate too much, they can cut us off from each other.”

“And if I go anyway?” snaps Sokka.

“Then I can’t stop you. I’m not your sovereign.” 

Sokka is briefly at a loss for words. 

The door opens, and Azula enters. She stops, eyes roving over all of their faces warily. “Leaving me out, Great-Grandmother?”

“You have not indicated you’re willing to fight for us.”

Azula ignores this. “What about Ozai?”

An uncomfortable pause descends over the room. 

“As I’ve told the Avatar,” Iling says, “Ozai has… had a falling out with Azulon, apparently, over his failed plan to assassinate Azulon. He has a smaller segment of the army and some of the fake Avatars. Both of them are heading here. It seems his goal is to get here first and seize power before his father can.” Her mouth thins. “Riots among the people nearby are slowing him down-- we have your information to thank for that--” She nods to Sokka and Zuko. “--but it’s only a matter of time.” She shakes her head. “This… will be bloody.”

Fifteen minutes of tense preparation later, Sokka pulls Katara aside as she reluctantly pulls away from hugging Suki. “Are you sure about this? I can come with you.”

“Sokka, thank you for offering. But…” Katara shakes her head. “I won’t be fighting the regular army yet. They’re following behind. I’ll be going up against dozens of Avatars.” Her expression is grim. “I don’t think… I think only someone with the Avatar state should be in that situation.”

Sokka has to admit that she’s right. “I just don’t feel right about you going out there all alone.”

“None of this really feels right. It’s horrible. But I have to do this. It’s my duty as the Avatar to protect people.”

“But who’s going to protect you?”

“You will. It’ll help me to know you’re all fighting too and making sure the city is safe, watching my back. Even if I’m over there and you’re here, we’re still a team. Right?” When he doesn’t answer, she pleads, “I’m the one who needs to do this.”

Sokka forces himself to accept it. “...Right.” He puts a hand on Katara’s head. “Just… be careful out there.”

“I will. I have a plan. You be careful too.”

He squeezes her tightly, trying not to worry that this will be the last time he sees her. She walks away.

Zuko approaches and squeezes his hand hesitantly. Sokka squeezes back. 

Sokka soon realizes that the city is emptying. Birds gather in the square in front of the gates. A steady stream of people that he glimpses from the balconies heads northeast. 

“Where are they going?” he says.

“The northeast towns,” says Zuko. “People are afraid of what will happen if the fake Avatars reach the city.”

Sokka pats the handle of his sword, freshly sharpened, at his hip. “Guess they don’t have much faith in Iling.”

“No. Things have been getting… worse… for a while. People are tired of the war. And scared.”

Sokka watches the way the breeze stirs Zuko’s hair. 

Zuko turns to him, looking a little embarrassed at the attention. “I’m glad I don’t have any regrets.”

“Like what?”

“Like not telling you. How I feel about you.” Zuko flushes a little. “Even if we lose, I’ll have had that.” He glances down at the moving crowd of people. 

Sokka takes his hand. “This isn’t the end. But I’m glad too.”

Zuko gives him a slightly sad smile.

The sound of pounding feet yanks them out of their moment. They reach the door just as it’s yanked open by one of Iling’s ministers, who looks around desperately.

“What’s going on?” says Zuko. 

“Princess Azula. We can’t find her.” The woman breathes hard. “The entire palace has been searched except for these balconies, but we can’t find her anywhere.”

They join the searchers, but when all is said and done every inch of the palace has been searched, and Azula is nowhere to be found.

“You don’t think she-- would she join Azulon or Ozai?” murmurs Sokka.

“I don’t know. It’s possible. When I first got here, I wanted to go back too.” Zuko glares off to the side.

“We’ll find her,” says Ursa encouragingly, dual dao blades already strapped to her back despite her recent imprisonment. 

Zuko nods mutely.

But as the morning wears on and the city empties still further, no sign of Azula appears. A scout comes reporting that Katara has intercepted the fake Avatars, but the Northern Fire Nation army has moved ahead and is approaching fast.

The city seems to hold its breath. Shutters close, leaves rustle, birds sing. The distant sound of marching and the clanking of armor is the only human sound beside their breathing.

Zuko, Sokka, and Druk are stationed near the gate with Iroh’s portion of the army; Suki and Toph, with Lu Ten farther back. The gate to the city is open, a way to ensure they know which direction the North will approach from. 

They are difficult to make out at first, a smudge on the horizon that stays and grows, but eventually they become distinct, a menacing crowd amassing on the plain outside the city. It is already clear the South is outnumbered.

Beside Sokka, Zuko lowers his helmet. He finds Sokka’s clammy hand and squeezes it. “Stay close to me.” His voice reverberates strangely behind the white mask.

The Northern army charges.

Things become a blur. Suddenly they are twenty yards away, and then five, and then the world erupts into fighting all around him. Fire flies every which way, warming the air and making him sweat; most of the firebenders seem not to expect a physical blade, and he goes for nonlethal wounds, his grip on the hilt adrenaline tight; the shadow of Druk swooping flashes past, Zuko’s back bumps up against his and slips away. 

Sokka’s been in battles before, but never like this. 

The Northern reinforcements keep pouring through the gate, and as the air fouls with the smell of burning flesh they’re forced back, deeper into the city. Sokka gags as arrows fly from the windows of hidden archers. 

Bodies flit past. Zuko’s hand on his wrist pulls him back behind a corner. Sokka is so sick of the sight of fire he never wants to see another one again. 

Sokka glances back. The palace looms behind them. 

A guard stumbles out to the palace gate. “In the palace-- they’ve broken through, and the Firelord is undefended--”

“Come on,” Sokka yells over the din, and the two of them hurry through the entryway, down the halls where guards lie unconscious or worse. The sound of fighting comes from Iling’s main reception room.

“--that cursed brat--”

Something crashes.

They round the corner to find a half dozen soldiers lying nearby, the floor covered in glass and alcohol, some of which smolders lightly. Iling battles a single assailant in the middle of it all.

Zuko comes in with a fire whip to knock him off his feet, and within a minute the man has Sokka’s sword at his neck.

Iling approaches, grey hair in disarray. “Did you really think you’d be that lucky?” she says coldly.

The man coughs and wheezes, apparently weakened from the fight. His face is covered in recent burns, painfully raw. “Traitor,” he spits.

Sokka nearly lets his sword slip in surprise: It’s Ozai. Azula’s parting gift was so enthusiastic as to render him nearly unrecognizable.

Zuko pales. “You.”

“Yes.” Ozai wheezes out a little laugh. “Surprised to see me like this? Ironic, isn’t it? Like father, like d--” 

Iling presses the toe of her boot to one of Ozai’s burns, and he howls. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t one,” comes a new voice scornfully.

Azulon steps into the room. The old man who performed energybending under the Caldera and an unfamiliar old woman flank him. A half dozen soldiers follow closely.

“He is quite useless now,” Azulon continues.

Beside Sokka, Iling crumples to her knees at the twitch of the old man’s hands, and Zuko, swaying, grimly draws his swords. 

Sokka’s not planning on going down without a fight, but in the end they’re outnumbered and tired. He’s shoved against the wall with Zuko, swords and boomerangs confiscated. Sokka’s mind races with possible plans. 

Azulon crosses to Iling where she sits on the floor. They regard each other for a moment.

“Hello, Mother,” says Azulon.

“Son,” responds Iling coldly. But her eyes dart over his face restlessly, as if searching for some familiarity or warmth.

“I’ve come to take your throne.”

“So I see.”

“But first, I have to deal with him.” Azulon gestures to Ozai and addresses him. “It disappoints me that you tried to kill me. But I’ve already endured the pain of losing one son. What’s one more?”

Ozai doesn’t speak, only glares at Azulon.

“The traditional method would be immolation. But I think we need something faster.”

One of the guards steps forward, but Azulon holds up his hand. “No. I’ll do it myself. He deserves that, at least.”

Azulon selects a jagged slice of glass from a sideboard. Beside Sokka, Zuko seems to be shaking. 

“You will be remembered as a failure who destroyed his country’s one chance at redemption,” Ozai hisses.

Azulon lifts Ozai by what’s left of his hair, glass glinting, and Sokka braces himself-- but Azulon pauses. “On second thought, near the window might be best.”

He drags Ozai out of the reception room, around the corner to one of Iling’s private rooms; the toes of Ozai’s ash-covered boots knock carelessly against the doorframe.

Sokka lunges forward, he can’t help it-- the guards catch him, struggling, and pin him down. He never wanted to watch this. Iling is silent. Zuko trembles.

Silence.

A weighty thump.

And then another thump. And another-- footsteps.

Ursa bursts into the room from the hallway, swords drawn, and deftly dodges the first soldier’s fire blast, neatly wounding the old man’s energybending hands. In the commotion, Sokka tackles the old woman, and Iling takes in a gasp as if resurfacing from underwater. Sokka’s grasping fingers alight on an unbroken bottle, and he brings it down hard over the woman’s head. She slumps, out cold.

From there, a simple brawl follows. The curtains catch fire. The four of them manage to push their way out of the reception room into the hallway beyond, and then retreat out the nearest window into the palace garden, an enclosed courtyard surrounded by palace walls and filled with reasonable rows of red flowers, except for the very middle, where a small earthen hill supports a single bench. 

Sokka dodges blows from the soldiers, trying to get close enough to make a hit. He watches Zuko’s back as they fight near each other. They stumble through the loose soil. The flowers are trampled and smoking. At last he catches one soldier in the leg and he goes down; but another takes his place. 

From the corner of his eye he can see the furious dance atop the hill, where Iling and Azulon face each other. 

Flames shoot into the sky, twirl over the heads of the lower fighters, brush heat across the garden. The bench between them crackles and crumbles. The entire hill is wreathed in searing red. 

Sokka ducks a fire whip, slashes down at the soldier’s shoulder, and nicks him. The soldier manages to singe his elbow. The anxious rhythm of the fight takes him, and he loses track of how many attacks and counter-attacks he makes. 

A curtain of fire forms and splits atop the hill. Lightning transforms the sand nearby to shining glass. The bolts come in such quick succession they form an electric lace across the air. It seems to happen in slow motion. One tendril of that lace seems to reach out, to flutter against Iling’s chest.

She slams backward so hard that she hits the wall of the palace and slides down, electric aftershocks jolting across her twitching body. 

Zuko runs to her, abandoning his opponent, and Sokka follows. He turns as they skid to a stop, watching the soldiers approach them warily and Ursa running towards them. Azulon slowly descends the hill. 

“Great-Grandmother,” Zuko chokes out, hands hovering over her, unsure. He glances over his shoulder. 

“We need to get her to a healer,” says Sokka as Ursa arrives. “The sooner the better.”

But Azulon and his soldiers have come to a stop, watching them.

Iling looks to Zuko with an effort, expression pained. Electricity flickers across her face. “Remember... what I said.” 

Her eyes go empty. 

Zuko fumbles for a pulse, wincing at the fading aftershocks. “She’s.” He swallows. “She’s gone.”

“A head start would be fair to account for your grief,” calls Azulon. He smiles magnanimously. 

“Fuck,” whispers Zuko. 

Sokka’s spine prickles with foreboding, but they sprint back the way they came unhindered, hearts racing as they pass Iling’s destroyed reception room.

“Wait-- Ozai,” Zuko says dully, stopping. “Is he…”

Ursa catches his gaze, seems to understand, and turns the corner in a quick rustle of clothing. She returns a shade paler. 

“Yes.” 

She takes Zuko’s elbow gently, spurring him back to a run. Sokka can’t process it. Iling is dead. The South is without a ruler. Dread fills him. 

They pound up to the entrance of the palace.

The square is ringed with Northern soldiers, all on guard. They’re trapped.

A gust of wind kicks up, and Azula lands heavily in their midst. She turns to survey the scene, panting. The soldiers tense. So do Sokka, Zuko, and Ursa.

“Azula?” says Zuko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/17/19: Sorry guys, became a little more busy than expected recently. Expect Chapter 26 on Wednesday


	26. Southwards Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang is forced to leave the Fire Nation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, guys. Once again you all have my utmost appreciation. Sincerely, a tired brain mush-haver
> 
> Will answer comments tomorrow <3

Azula turns to them, eyes burning. “Where’s Father?”

“He…” Zuko’s voice fades.

Azula whips around to scream at the soldiers. “Where is he?!”

“He’s dead,” chokes Ursa. 

Azula turns back to her, fists clenched, eyes wide. “How?”

“Azulon,” says Sokka simply. His voice rings out too loudly.

Azula blinks, eyelid twitching. She swallows. “I-- I got his army, but-- the _idiot.”_

Unease prickles down Sokka’s spine. 

“What are you doing?” calls Zuko.

“I’m--” Azula pauses for a moment, seeming to scramble for words. “I’m doing what I-- what-- what’s best. For my country.” Her expression twitches into a semblance of fear before her jaw clenches and her gaze hardens. “I’m going to lead us into a new age, where the entire world will recognize our supremacy.”

They need to leave, but there’s no way they will break through the line. Sokka makes a mental map of the space behind them, furiously searching for another exit once they get a chance to run.

“What supremacy?! Our country is broken!” Zuko shouts, gesturing to the battered palace behind him. “When this is over, all you’re going to rule are ruins!” The line of soldiers shifts and rustles, but their commander holds up a hand as Azula takes a deep breath.

“I’m going to _save_ the Fire--”

“You’re going to kill it!” Zuko steps forward. “What’re you going to do here, who’s going to be loyal to you? You can’t scare them into staying in line forever. Azulon couldn’t. And neither could O-Ozai.” 

“Maybe _you_ couldn’t. But I c-can! I don’t need anyone else!”

“But do you _want_ someone else?” Ursa speaks pleadingly.

Azula’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment as if processing the audacity of her words before she roars, “NO!” She glares at Ursa and then at Zuko. “You think you can lecture me about loyalty?! _You?”_

“Ozai is _dead,_ Azula. He’s gone. And he was a liar. His way doesn’t work!” Zuko extends his hand again, pale and trembling. “Not everyone around you needs to be afraid of you. It can be different. You can start over. You have to believe me!”

“Believe us, Azula. Please,” begs Ursa.

Azula takes a few steps back, bumps into the breastplate of one of the soldiers, and whirls, staggering into the center of the ring between the two camps. Her eyes dart to and fro. Her gaze locks on Zuko, and she swallows. “I’m going to kill Azulon. I _have_ to conquer the world.”

The soldiers move in, and Azula lifts the stone beneath them, turning it upward and out and sending them sliding back. 

“Go!” Sokka shouts, making for the gap between the end of the upturned stone and the palace gate, where they slip between and into the square behind the soldiers. They sprint for it, and Sokka hears shouts behind them and the pounding of feet. A powerful gust of wind hits them as Azula unleashes another attack. 

They pound through streets where fighting still rages, making for the knot of Southern Fire Nation forces ahead. 

A great weight hits Sokka, and he flails in panic before realizing it’s Druk, who knocks his shoulder before sinking, too heavy and big to perch on him. Suki is nearby. 

“Where’ve you been?” she screams over the tumult. “You just--”

“Iling is dead,” Sokka pants, chest heaving. “Iroh. We need-- Iroh.”

Suki’s eyes widen in horror, but she takes off. 

“Mo-- Mom,” Zuko blurts, looking around himself wildly. “Where is she?! She’s not here! We left her--” His face goes slack with shock and then quickly contorts in terror. “She-- she must have stayed with Azula-- she didn’t want to leave her and--”

Sokka grips his arm tightly. “You can’t.”

Zuko shakes him off roughly. “She’s my mother.”

Iroh barrels towards them, Suki behind. “Is it true?”

“She’s dead. Iling’s dead,” Sokka repeats. “We saw her die. Azulon killed her. And so is Ozai. Dead.”

Iroh’s expression turns more grim than any Sokka has yet seen him wear. “Azulon is in the palace?”

“Last we saw,” says Sokka.

Iroh shouts a few commands, and the Southern forces begin to make their way towards the palace, battling their way back through the city and the scattered remnants of Azulon’s ground army. Sokka and Zuko go with them, Druk close by. Sokka watches Zuko carefully. His gaze is stricken, his forehead beaded with sweat, but now that they’re going in Ursa’s direction he seems willing to stay with the group.

A shout goes up from one of the archers stationed in the buildings. Zuko scrambles up the nearest garden wall and then onto a roof to see. 

“What is it?” calls Sokka.

“The fake Avatars.” 

Sokka’s stomach clenches. “Is-- Is Katara--”

“I don’t see her.”

Soon Sokka can see them himself as they kick up a strong wind that blusters against the trees. They are storming towards the capital in a thick line, launching themselves from the earth and using a mixture of airbending and firebending to propel themselves forward. 

“Dad-- we can’t win against these-- if the Avatar isn’t coming--” says Lu Ten quickly nearby.

Iroh glances at the troops, shifting and stumbling unsurely like skittish ostrich-horses. He hesitates, and then says, “It would be a slaughter. We have to retreat.”

The army of fake Avatars storms closer, becoming more visible, rending the very ground at their feet. The sound is like an earthquake. 

The next minutes are a blur-- people running, streaming through thrown-open city gates like water-- Iroh is guiding their little group to the docks-- 

“Go,” he says firmly. “I can’t leave. The White Lotus will help me, but you need to go.”

“Now hold on--” starts Toph.

“Uncle--”

“Lu Ten and I will have to go underground, but we’re not giving up,” says Iroh firmly. “But it’s not safe here for you.”

The argument is cut off. A blaze suddenly kicks up across the line of ships, spurred on by an unnatural wind. They turn to find one of the fake Avatars facing them, having broken away from the group and through the line of Southern soldiers.

They raise their hands again--

And a tentacle of water throws them back; they hit one of the blazing ships with a crack, falling groaning to the dock.

Once again Azula stands panting in front of them. Ursa is beside her.

“I thought about what you said,” Azula says. “And maybe I’m the fool, but I’ve--” She gulps. “--decided that maybe your ideas warrant another chance. As ridiculous as they sound.” Her eyes dart suspiciously to Ursa, who smiles shakily as if in reassurance. Her eyes snap back to them and their stares. “Well?”

They get the steam-powered ship working as fast as they can. As they sail away they can see the clouds of smoke rising over the city. Iroh and Lu Ten have long since disappeared. 

“Someone’s in the water,” says Zuko suddenly, pointing.

A figure bobs in the sea, slowly drifting closer.

As they come into focus, Sokka has a horrible moment of recognition. 

Katara, slumped over a piece of driftwood.

Azula hauls her up silently, and Sokka scrambles to search for a pulse on her sodden wrist-- there, a beat. He keeps his fingers on it for a full minute, afraid to pull away. 

Katara stirs once in one of the crew bunks and falls back asleep nearly immediately. On deck, Azula is having somewhat of a fit, sobbing and punching fire at the air. Ursa has told them to leave her, that she needs time to process.

“Are you…” Sokka begins tentatively, in one of the other crew bunkrooms. 

Zuko is staring at the wall, dead-eyed. “Ozai’s dead,” he says. “We lost.”

"Yeah,” Sokka breathes. “You want to be alone?”

Zuko shakes his head and shifts into Sokka’s lap. Sokka wraps his arms around him.

They sit there silently commiserating while the rumble of the ship’s engine vibrates beneath and around them.

The ocean is the same as it always is. No evidence of the North’s victory follows them: no burning ships, no battles, no fake Avatars in pursuit. Not yet. 

Katara is awake but reticent and teary. Twice she attempted to return to the Fire Nation, but was convinced to stay. She has trouble making it from the bunkroom to the main deck. She needs a healer. 

And there’s only one place where they’re going to get that in this hemisphere. 

But first, they head for the Southern Air Temple, where material evidence of the North’s takeover returns with a vengeance. 

They can see the temple swarming with airbenders and bison from afar like a hive of parrot-bees, many of which dive towards them as soon as they come into sight-- right. Fire Nation ship.

It’s only their shouting and waving that convinces the airbenders not to blow them halfway across the globe.

At the temple, they meet Dawa and Wangmo again. 

“We came to warn you, but I guess you already know,” says Sokka as their little group hurries to keep up with the airbenders’ quick pace. 

“Yeah. We get news fast,” says Wangmo over her shoulder. “But thank you.”

“Are you preparing to fight?” says Katara.

“No,” says Dawa curtly. “Not after what happened the last time. We’re evacuating to the other temples. United, we’ll stand a better chance of holding them off.”

“They’ll come here first,” puts in Azula unexpectedly, quietly. “Azulon was angry that the Southern Air Temple survived because of the start of the Civil War, and he’ll want to follow the Avatar south.” Her eyes flick to Katara cautiously.

“There, see? We’re leaving.” Dawa pauses to let a procession of carts holding high stacks of scrolls and books speed squeakily past. 

“We also came to ask if you could-- offer us any help,” says Katara quietly, leaning on Sokka. “I know you need to stand united with the other temples. But if the Northern Fire Nation follows us south, then--” She shivers slightly. “The Southern Water Tribe could really use your help.”

Sokka tries to ward off the sense of foreboding that the admission gives him. They’re really going home, and the Fire Nation is really on the warpath, and if they get there-- if they win-- this could literally be the end of everything he holds dear. They got lucky during the last war. He doesn’t know if they will again.

“I’m sorry.” Dawa turns to face them fully, stopping for the first time. Her gaze is sympathetic, but her voice is firm. “When we’ve joined forces with the other temples, we’ll do what we can. But right now, we can’t have another massacre. We need to leave.”

“I understand,” says Katara softly, but the fear is clear in her voice.

It nearly breaks Sokka’s heart to see the same green young squad of waterbenders come jogging up the path towards them when they finally reach the Southern Water Tribe. The spiky metal gangplank crashes down on the ice, cracking some of the top layers, and the waterbenders murmur in surprise as they fumble out of the way.

Sokka helps Katara down the gangplank first, and the waterbenders stare for a moment before erupting into cheers and breaking into a chant of “Avatar Katara! Avatar Katara!”

Katara smiles a little despite herself. 

“Hi, guys. We’re really glad to see you and all, but we _really_ need to get to town,” says Sokka over their chanting, which tapers off. “Like, now. It’s an emergency.”

“You injured?” says one of the squad leaders, coming to peer more closely at Katara. 

“A little,” Katara admits.

Two of the waterbenders speed Katara off towards town. The others disembark, Suki with no apparent discomfort and Zuko and Ursa with mild winces. Azula stands glaring imperiously at the snow as if disgusted such a landscape has the nerve to exist. 

“Spirits,” one of them gasps as Druk barrels down the gangplank. “Is that the same dragon? He’s huge!”

“There’s no earth here, is there,” says Toph suspiciously, lingering at the end of the gangplank. “It’s cold as _shit.”_

“There’s earth, it’s just deep down.” 

“As if that counts. I can’t see for shit.” She shivers.

“And you don’t wear shoes, which means you’ll probably get frostbite by the time we get in,” Sokka sighs.

At last Toph agrees to ride Druk, who takes off down the road. The rest of them trek the long way, fielding the questions of the waterbenders.

“How did Katara get injured?” pipes up one of the waterbenders.

“It was...” Sokka decides that it might be better to let his dad announce it. Let them all stay in blissful ignorance for just a few minutes longer. “...a long story. Tell you later.”

The house still has its familiar smoky smell, and his parents’ crushing hugs still feel the same, and the curious faces pretending they’re not lingering outside still belong to the people he’s been seeing all his life, but Sokka is not the same. Toph, Suki, Azula, and Ursa sitting in various degrees of awkwardness in the main room drive home the point. Zuko is trying to keep Druk from getting into the food stores. 

“Did you get Katara to a healer?” asks Sokka when they finally break apart. 

“Yes, they’re in the other room.” Hakoda studies his face and glances at all the others. “We had the feeling it was a special situation.”

“She told us she lost a battle against the Northern Fire Nation,” says Kya. “Is everything… okay?”

The look on Sokka’s face seems to tell them the answer.

“I… did Li Min get here?” Sokka decides to start. “And Queen Yue?”

They nod.

“So you know that energybenders were working with the Northern Fire Nation. And that the Northern Fire Nation was kidnapping benders…” 

The story is halting, sometimes difficult to say, and the others do their best to fill in the gaps. 

“We came because Katara needed healing,” Sokka says with vague guilt, hoping they understand. “We didn’t know where else to take her. But now that she’s here, the Northern Fire Nation is coming here too. The Southern Air Temple evacuated, and there’s nothing in their way. As soon as she’s better, we should leave.”

“I don’t know about that,” says Hakoda thoughtfully. “If you leave, they may come down on us anyway, especially knowing that this is the Avatar’s home.” His expression is grave. “Besides, we can withstand a siege for a long time. The Northern Fire Nation won’t be familiar with the terrain. And, well, combining our strength might be our best bet. All of you will be scrambling for resources out there on the run. Katara’s chances might be better if she has a whole tribe behind her.”

“And the sooner we end this, the better,” adds Kya unexpectedly fiercely. “We won’t abandon you two. And I think everyone in the tribe will agree.”

Warmth and terror mix uncomfortably in Sokka’s gut, but he knows there is little he can say. When they’ve made up their minds like this, that’s it.

He hopes he and Katara will prove that they deserve their tribe's trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/23/19: Update on Tuesday this time, guys.


	27. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and the gang try frantically to figure out some way to resist the oncoming invasion of the Southern Water Tribe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, guys, and happy new year!
> 
> 1/18/20: Just checking in to assure you guys I have NOT forgotten about this fic. Some things have come up and I'd like to give the last few chapters the time and attention they deserve, so the next chapter will probably be up around the end of January!

The aperture of the great igloo over the town closes to its smallest point. The walls rumble as teams of waterbenders outside pull up new layers as reinforcement. The streets are crowded as people talk anxiously, pound back and forth, and watch the dome quiver and shake, faces pinched in worry. No one seems to be inside, clustering together for comfort.

They don’t know when the Northern Fire Nation-- or just the Fire Nation now, perhaps-- will arrive. That first day passes uneasily. 

“So,” says Kya politely, “Have you ever been to the Water Tribes before?”

They all sit around the main room of the house in the evening, picking at steaming bowls of stewed sea prunes. 

“No, I haven’t,” says Ursa equally carefully. 

“We would love to show you all around.” Kya attempts a smile. “It’s usually very peaceful here.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’ll pass,” says Toph. She’s bundled up in several coats and looks downright cantankerous. “Little too cold here. I’m sure it’s lovely, but I can’t really tell.”

Kya turns her gaze to Azula, who slouches against the doorframe. “You too. We could show you around when this is over. If you like.”

Zuko lifts his head, watching carefully. Suki wears a distinctly apprehensive look. Toph ignores the situation entirely. Katara glances up, looking worried.

“Oh no, please. Don’t... exert yourself on my account.” Azula grips her bowl with both hands like a shield, or possibly a weapon. 

“Well, it’s your choice. But we would love to.”

None of his friends really seem to be eating the sea prunes, except for Toph, who is shoveling it down with what looks like resignation. Sokka takes a bite, having briefly been distracted by the tension in the room, and checks to see if it tastes strange. Nope, totally normal. He guesses they’ve just lost their appetites. War and all. “You guys not hungry?”

“Uh, just a little nervous about everything that’s going on. You know,” says Suki lightly. “It’s nothing wrong with the prunes. Really. We couldn’t have asked for something tastier.”

“Tastier? I hardly know her!” says Sokka.

Zuko chuckles. Everyone looks at him. He quiets. Katara shakes her head. Kanna clears her throat.

“Your home. It’s nice,” blurts Azula somewhat threateningly into the silence.

“Thank you,” says Hakoda.

Sokka glances at Zuko, who is leaning against him, and gives him an inquiring look. Zuko shrugs, looking baffled.

An Azula who is trying to be nice is nearly as off-putting as the former. Perhaps she’ll grow into it.

Spoons click halfheartedly against bone bowls. The fire crackles. They all have a wanness about their faces that makes him even more tired just to look at them. So he looks at Druk, curled up by the fire, and then at Zuko, familiar and warm out of the corner of his eye, instead.

The night passes.

Sokka wakes to the sound of a door closing. The disorientation of sleep blankets him, and he takes a moment to gather himself. Nearby he can hear Toph snoring. 

He pats around the blankets next to him. There is only a warm spot where Zuko used to be.  
Sokka pushes the furs off of himself reluctantly, looking around as the cold air hits him. The fuzzy outlines of the house offer him nothing. He stands. 

He walks into the main room. 

“Shh, go back inside,” Zuko says softly. 

Sokka turns to the door to find it ajar and Druk half inside. Druk tugs sharply with his teeth, and Zuko stumbles into view, his sleeve caught in Druk’s jaws. 

“‘M not going anywhere. Don’t worry.” Zuko gently pries Druk’s jaws open to free himself, guides his head back through the door, and shuts it behind himself.

Druk cocks his head as Sokka approaches. Sokka has to lift his arm to be able to pat his head, now at rib cage height. “It’s all right, my man. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Druk snorts, but after a moment of looking at Sokka he turns to return to their blanket nest. 

Sokka opens the door. Zuko looks up, but seems unsurprised to see him. He is leaning against the wall. 

“Can’t sleep?” says Sokka, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“No,” says Zuko shortly. 

Sokka waits.

“It’s just… I can’t believe he’s really… gone. My father.”

“Oh.” Sokka leans against the wall next to him. Above them a restricted circle of stars glitters through the igloo’s great chimney.

“After all that time, I spent so long thinking about what I would do if I ever saw him again-- about what he would say to me. I still worried about it. And now it’s over.” His cheeks begin to glimmer with tear tracks in the moonlight. “I know I should be-- happy-- that he’s dead, but I don’t know what to feel. I just feel… terrible.”

“I know, buddy. Bring it in. Come on.” Sokka folds him into his arms and Zuko sniffles into his shoulder, their breath fogging in the arctic night air. 

“Sometimes, I can just-- I remember all the shit he’d say to me, about me-- and I know he was wrong…”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“But it’s hard to _feel_ it.”

“Like sometimes your brain is working against you.”

“Yeah.”

They cling to each other, the only spots of warmth in the night cold. The red of Zuko’s clothes sears him into focus against the muted blues and whites of the sleeping town, but he could be dressed pale as the snow, eyes and hair bleached bone white, and Sokka would still unerringly seek him out. The bastard.

“But I don’t… he’s wrong. Yeah. You believe me, right?” Zuko sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself.

“Yeah. I’d believe anything you told me, you big dork. I know that you can’t lie for shit.” Sokka feels the quirk of Zuko’s smile against his shoulder. “Sometimes I… sort of feel like that too. Not about him, but… well, you know. Voices in my head. But it’s not me.”

“I know.”

“And it’s not you, either.”

Zuko makes to pull away, but Sokka clings a little tighter, and Zuko relaxes back against him. 

After a few moments, he says, “Sokka, can we continue this inside? My hands are going numb.”

“Oh, right. Duh.”

The next morning there still is no sign of the Fire Nation. The walls have been raised, the igloo has been strengthened, weapons and food stores are being gathered. The city is tensely quiet. Katara does not show up at breakfast.

Sokka finds her sitting on her bed, staring at her waterbending necklace. 

“Hey, we’re eating.”

Katara starts. “Oh. Okay. I didn’t realize.”

“Did you not sleep?”

“Well, not much, but-- that’s not the problem. I’m just nervous. And scared.” She stands and puts the necklace back on. “I’m going out into town. I want to reassure everyone that I’m going to keep them safe.”

“Shouldn’t you eat first?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“But you can’t keep hope on an empty stomach.”

“Yes, I can,” snaps Katara seriously. She looks away as if regretting some of her intensity. “Sorry. I just want to make sure everyone knows I’m working on it.”

“Sure.”

Katara passes him in the doorway. 

“You want me to come with you?”

“Thank you, but no.” Katara sighs and closes her eyes. “I just need some time to think. I know I can figure this out if I just try.”

“We will.” Sokka puts a hand on her shoulder.

Katara smiles tightly and nods. 

Their ideas go round and round without picking up any weight. They’ve sent frantic messengers to the Air Temples, to Earth Kingdom rulers, and to follow Yue, who probably has not quite reached the Northern Water Tribe yet. But time is not on their side.

The Council of Elders bickers among themselves in the chief’s home as the town’s inhabitants nervously try to continue their lives. But when Sokka goes out, the conversations he hears trails off too easily, a fisherwoman’s hands grip her basket too tightly, and children newly warned off playing in the street peek timidly out of windows. 

He and his parents have picked his memory clean, and Ursa and Zuko have offered all the information they can. But even though they have a way to remove the stolen bending, their primary concern is one of power.

“Hey,” Sokka greets Li Min, sliding in next to them during one of the crowded war meetings. 

They sit quietly in the corner, leg bouncing. They sigh. “Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

“Much better. The healers have really been helping me. And of course, now that I’m here, they can-- uh-- restrain me, so I don’t wander off in my sleep.” They clear their throat, and a tinge of guilt creeps into their voice. “How are you?”

“Oh, just peachy. Looking forward to being invaded by the Northern Fire Nation.”

They nod tightly.

“No lasting effects, from your… thing. I’m just fine.”

“That’s good. I’m glad. I… yeah.”

They look distinctly less haggard than the last time they met, an energy to their gaze that wasn’t there before. Sokka’s glad. He offers them a smile, which they return. 

“About these fake Avatars-- you could put them back to normal, if you got close enough, right?”

Their smile fades. “Yeah. If they hold still long enough, if I can make contact with each one of them. But yes, I could.”

“The problem is that even if we managed to hold down one, the others would stop us before you got the chance,” Sokka sighs.

They both look back out at the room as the voices rise again in a fresh round of fearful theorizing.

“Mom, the Avatar-- the past one-- he said something weird to me when I met him in the Spirit World.” Zuko approaches his mom as she sits on a fur-covered bench just outside the room where the Southern Water Tribe’s Council of Elders debates. 

There’s been a sharpness in the air all day, as if a wrong word will slice into him all over. When his mother grips his hand, brow puckered in concern, a little bit of softness returns. 

Zuko sits beside her. “The last one, Aang-- he was an airbender-- when I spoke to him in the Spirit World, he said he was technically my great-grandfather.” It was only a few months ago, but it feels like another lifetime. “Do you know what he meant by that?”

Ursa’s eyes widen at the mention of the Spirit World, but she only sighs.“Oh… My grandfather on my mother’s side was Roku.”

“Avatar Roku? The one that Sozin fought?” The past months have been filled with surprises, but this is one that Zuko did not see coming.

“Yes. Your father…” Her voice turns chilly. “He and Azulon didn’t want you to know.” Her eyes flick over Zuko’s shoulder, and Zuko turns to see Azula leaning against a wall across the room, her arms crossed. Azula doesn’t meet his eyes.

“They wanted the strength of an Avatar’s bloodline, without teaching you any of the Avatar’s ideals,” Ursa continues tiredly as Zuko turns back to her. “Your uncle could have told you. But I guess it never came up.” She pauses and then rushes forward. “I tried my best to teach you. I couldn’t tell you directly, but I tried…”

“I know, Mom.”

“I spent so long with him. I’m glad you got out. Even though you were born of it, I don’t want that life for either of you. I know you can be better than we were.”

“I hope so.” Zuko’s voice is quiet.

A few seconds pass, and a slight swish of fabric tells Zuko that Azula has left the room. 

“Gran-Gran? Can I talk to you about something?”

Katara stands in the doorway of the room where Sokka sits cleaning his boomerangs. 

Gran-Gran pauses in counting the stores of dried fish against the wall. “Of course, Katara. What is it?”

Sokka lowers his boomerang. 

Katara fiddles with her fingers. “Now that I’m-- since I’m the Avatar, I can see and talk to the past Avatars sometimes. I talk a lot with the one who came before me. He tells me that he… knew you.”

Kanna’s eyes widen. “Knew me?” 

“Yeah.” Katara hesitates. “His name is Aang.”

Kanna sits down heavily, at a loss for words. Eventually she says, “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” Katara sits next to her, watching her face. “He told me you grew up together. And that he had some kind of memory loss after an accident when he was young. He didn’t know he was the Avatar.” Her voice trails off. 

Kanna sighs and puts her face in her hands, eyes peeking over her fingers. Her gaze is far away. “I… Spirits. I can’t believe…” She shakes her head. 

Sokka approaches and kneels down next to them, unsure what comfort to give. 

Kanna doesn’t speak for a couple of minutes. Then she mutters, “Spirits. Of course he…” She shakes her head again. “It… it all makes sense now…”

“I’m sorry he passed away,” says Katara quietly. “He’s a good person. I know he must have been a close friend.”

Kanna takes a deep, slow breath. “Don’t be sorry,” she says gruffly, sounding a little choked up. “He was happy, as far as I knew, and he got his wish.” She laughs. “He wanted to be your godfather.” 

“Mine?” says Katara in surprise.

Kanna nods. “Sokka, he was there when you were born. He saw you. He met you. And he said that....” Her eyes glimmer. “The absolute…”

Katara and Sokka throw their arms around their grandmother in unison, and Kanna squeezes them both tightly. 

“No, no. Don’t be sorry.” Kanna disentangles herself at last and holds Katara’s face in her aged hands. “I’m sure he isn’t. After all, now we have you.”

The next morning dawns. Still no sign of the Fire Nation. 

Sokka slept fitfully, unable to keep from turning ideas over and over in his mind. 

Could they set some kind of trap with the icebergs…? They have the advantage of familiar terrain, maybe they could split their forces and pin the Fire Nation between…? Could they find some technique to reliably restrain the fake Avatars, one by one, so that Li Min could remove their stolen bending?

Most of their messages probably haven’t even reached the other nations. Are all the nations destined to be isolated, caught unawares, and picked off by the Fire Nation until the Fire Empire stretches across the globe? If the Fire Nation has set off already, there is no way reinforcements will reach the Southern Water Tribe in time.

But if they have no time, if they have no time-- there’s no use worrying about it. 

His head throbs. The strands of thought slip past his grasping fingers, fluttering and thin. Something-- anything-- he knows they can figure out something… But what could be bigger than an army of fake Avatars?

_“Is there anything I don’t know?” Katara says desperately. “Anything you might be able to teach me?”_

_“I’m so sorry,” murmurs Aang, putting a hand on her shoulder._

_“Energybending predates the Avatar. I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know,” admits Roku sorrowfully._

_“No. Nothing,” says Kyoshi. “You can do nothing but trust in your own courage.”_

_“Let others help you,” offers Kuruk with slight guilt. “Being the Avatar can’t give you all the answers. Maybe you need a different perspective.”_

Sokka and Zuko drift in the canoe on a fishing supply run. The silence and the distance are pleasantly numbing.

“On your left, you’ll see some ice. Off to the right there, we have some more ice. And look, you’re never gonna believe this: just ahead of us, more ice! So what do you think?” Sokka gestures expansively out at the scenery.

“It’s ice,” says Zuko. He squints. “Lot of ice.”

“Yeah,” agrees Sokka. “Beautiful ice. But still just ice. We might see a penguin-seal…” He scratches his chin. 

“You didn’t sleep much last night.”

“You should talk.” Sokka hands him a fishing spear. “Here.”

“No lines?”

“No, I typically like spears better, ‘cause those hooks are absolutely brutal.” Sokka ungloves his left hand and gives it to him. “See there, by my thumb? Put one through my hand once when I was a kid.”

“Is that what that one is, too?” He gestures to Sokka’s right forearm, covered now by the parka. Sokka’s surprised he remembers.

Sokka swallows and lowers the spear. “...No. It’s…” He hesitates, but Zuko waits patiently as the seconds march by.

The quiet and the company lull him into honesty.

_The playak has already sunk one of their ships._

_The entire town is in an uproar about it. The gaggle of shouting, stamping, shuffling people at the docks, all clamoring to volunteer for a last-minute spot on the hunting party’s ship, give Sokka his opportunity. He throws a boomerang with a rope over the quiet starboard side._

_“...just think you should give me a chance,” one man pleads at the gangplank as Sokka toils at the rope, feet scrambling on the hull. “I just… I have to kill that thing. Whether it’s the same one or not.”_

_“Palik, you know the rules,” Hakoda says gently. Sokka’s heart beats faster as he grasps the railing. A staggered thump sounds, as if the man has been carefully but firmly pushed back onto the dock. “They know the wounds made by their own kind. We can’t risk it.”_

_Sokka wedges himself into a corner behind a heavy chest. His breath is too loud. It steams in his enclosed space. He hears the men talking, the quick thunk of boots on the deck. He feels the lurch, and the icy wind biting his cheeks. They’re off._

_A perfect debut. Even the other boys of the tribe aren’t allowed on missions like these. What better proof could Sokka possibly offer, emerging triumphantly to slay the rare beast that killed their sailors, weapon in hand and fiercely courageous? Who could possibly disbelieve him? He has carefully noted the men’s every mannerism, every tone, every movement, jotted hastily on delicate skins in the light of a single flickering candle late at night. He has a ten-step plan for proving himself, bullet points and all, and when he’s accomplished it everything should work out. He will live and die a man._

_A sharp knot resides in his chest. Nerves only, of course. Not fear. Not dread. Not doubt. He knows exactly when he will emerge. He tries to ignore the icy rain that patters on his hood._

_The rocking of the ship makes him uneasy. At each gentle tip he expects the greater pull of the playak’s approach. He can do nothing but wait._

_But when the first tip comes, he almost doesn’t notice._

_And then the tip to the other side, hard and fast, and a shout from on deck. The pounding of running feet. Sokka jumps up, gripping his spear hard enough to bruise his hand, and darts out. No one notices him, and he begins to run to the edge of the deck--_

_“Wait!” one of the men grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. The men cluster in the middle around the main mast, all facing out, and a loose rope gets passed along and tied loosely around them. Long spears bristle in every hand. Sokka bumps into the men on either side of him clumsily as he tries to maneuver himself correctly._

_The ship is swirling in a circle like a scrap of meat in a soup pot, the water whirling them ever faster, lowering the ship just slightly with the pressure. Sokka soons finds himself struggling to keep his footing, holding fast to the rope._

_“Watch it!” Hakoda hollers to them all, uncomfortably close._

_Sokka stares at the water, heart pounding in his ears. The swirling stops and the ship bobs fretfully._

_A thunk splits the air, the boat rocking more violently than ever, and a massive icicle lodges in the ship halfway through the hull, thrusting up through the deck a yard away from Sokka’s feet._

_The adrenaline buzzes in his veins. The playak has shot its sole projectile, now it will attack. A grey mass is surfacing off the port side--_

_He rips himself free of the rope, not hearing the shouts behind him as he charges forward-- this is his shot--_

_He hurls his spear, and it sinks into the flesh easily, straight and sure-- the creature bobs in the waves-- he can see a milky eye and rows of shiny scales--_

_This is a dead eel-shark._

_He does not even have time to remember the famed intelligence of the playak, its penchant for tricks, before a living tentacle shoots out of the dark sea. It wraps around his arm. Razor barbs pierce his skin and start to tear. He screams as he’s dragged forward._

_A metallic glint and a sharp thwack and the force loosens, but he’s falling…_

_When he comes to, dizzy, arm bandaged, it’s to his father’s concerned face._

_Hakoda helps him sit up slowly, rubbing his back. The ship is still intact. The men cluster around him, all looking deeply worried and confused. A bruise or cut stands out here and there among them, but that’s all._

_“Sokka, what were you thinking?” Hakoda bites his words out. “Why are you here?”_

_And then Sokka’s stomach twists, and his chest tightens, and his ears start ringing. The sleet is mingling with his tears; why is he crying? Men don’t cry._

_He opens his mouth, and he blurts it out shakily in front of the whole ship, what he_ wants, _what he_ must be, _what he_ is-- _and his own terror and humiliation overtake him, even as one of the men, the healer clutching his water skin, opens his mouth to respond with a frown--_

\--and Sokka tumbles off the precipice of memory, frayed lengths of old hurts following him down, persistent as the old playak sign which will never go away... 

Zuko stares at the scar, thin as a hair, just slightly off-colored. He traces it lightly. Sokka shivers.

Zuko looks up at him. “I’m sorry. Those fuckers. If they just--” He shakes his head. “--could’ve fucking…”

“Yeah, well.” Sokka forces a chuckle and shrugs, feels their shoulders bump. “The past is in the past.” He looks up at the sky. “I’ve never told the whole story before.” He yawns. “I’m so tired.”

“Probably have enough fish.” Zuko still holds his hand, comfortingly so.

“I guess so.” 

They bob on the current.

“What’s funny is that it wasn’t even a full-grown one, even though it was as big as the ship,” Sokka admits. “Only the babies typically come to the surface. The adults, they stay deep. No one’s seen one in hundreds of years. They…” His mind catches on a thought.

“They what?”

“They’re… big.”

“Okay.”

“Huge,” says Sokka, blinking, picking up steam.

“Like a house? Or uh…”

“Zuko.” Sokka grips him by the shoulders, hope rising like a bubble in his chest.

Zuko searches his face, baffled. “Yeah?”

“Zuko, it’s something bigger than an army of Avatars.”


	28. The Playak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire Nation attacks the Southern Water Tribe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on your opinion of me and this bullshit, this is either a silver lining (bite of the silver sandwich?) to coronavirus or a compounding evil of it, because it was me being stuck at home that finally gave me the time to finish this. 
> 
> I massively overestimated the amount of time I was going to have to work on this from January onward, which is why I kept delaying the last chapters, and I am sorry for that. So I’ve decided to post the rest of it all at once so you’re not kept waiting any longer haha. 
> 
> Practice social distancing, stay inside, wash your hands, and stay safe everyone!! Hope you enjoy!

“They can’t surface for very long, right? We can lure it out onto the plain, to a fragile spot, away from the town, and-- the Northern Fire Nation doesn’t know anything about playaks. They would never expect it. We can’t beat them with bending alone.” Sokka stops his pacing, heart hammering, Zuko a comforting presence beside him. “It’s risky, yeah-- but it’s our best shot.”

The assembled group of all the people he’s come to count most dear over his life, over the past few months, stare at him among stunned members of the Council of Elders.

“It’s a big fish?” says Toph eventually. 

“It’s more than that,” murmurs Suki, looking a little queasy. 

Sokka soldiers on. “We’d need bait.”

His mother is already shaking her head, face crinkling in pain. “No. No.”

“But the adults don’t come to the surface. It’s toxic to them. It’s nearly impossible to find one. They only really go after those who’ve already been wounded by one, and Kanto passed away last year,” says one of the elders feebly.

Sokka holds out his arm and taps the faded scar. 

“No. No. Absolutely not.” Kya rises and pushes forward to force Sokka’s arm down pleadingly. “No. _No._ You’re not going down there.”

“Mom,” he says fruitlessly.

“This is crazy!” She looks around the room wildly, hoping for someone to back her up. “Hakoda!”

Hakoda’s face is frozen in dismay. 

“Look, here’s the facts.” Sokka swallows. “They’re coming. They have thousands of regular soldiers and dozens of people who can bend multiple elements. And we’ve got one. Katara’s doing her best, but she can’t be everywhere, and it won’t be long before they overwhelm us by sheer numbers. It’ll probably be weeks, if not months, before the other nations come, if they come at all. We need something that can end this fast, before too many people get hurt. We’re out of options.”

“Now hold on--”

“This could backfire so easily!--”

“Dad?” Sokka’s afraid to ask, but he raises his voice above the growing clamor of the Council. 

“Hakoda,” says Kya warningly.

Hakoda shakes his head wearily. “I…”

“I’m asking you to trust me. Dad.”

“This is too dangerous, Sokka. And last time--” He stops, expression pinched with worry. The Council have turned to bickering with each other, forming a steady hubbub that leaves them in the middle.

“This isn’t like last time.” And even as he says it, he knows it to be true. “I’m not a child that fell through an ice fishing hole. I’ll be going down prepared.”

“Sokka,” begs Kya. “Don’t do this.”

“You gotta trust me, Mom. I can do this. I know I can. I’ve been through all this ridiculous stuff since I left to find Katara, and still-- here I am.” Out of the corner of his eye Suki is explaining to a frowning Toph what a playak is. Katara stands next to them, looking at Sokka.

Sokka faces her. “Katara. You get the plan, right?”

Katara chews her lip. “I don’t like this. But... What choice do we have? The whole Southern Water Tribe is counting on us.” _On me._ It goes unspoken, but Sokka senses her terror at the prospect of being unable to protect them. “If…” She hesitates, closing her eyes as if in pain. “You come up with some pretty ridiculous plans sometimes, Sokka, but-- maybe that’s what we need right now.” She massages her temples, shooting Kya an anxious look. “I’ll talk to Aang. But… I’m with you, Sokka.”

“Dad. Mom.” Sokka turns to face them again fully. He spreads his hands pleadingly. “Will you trust me? Will you trust me when I say I’ll come back?” A steady coldness spreads behind his breastbone. 

Katara has her eyes closed again, but she takes Kya’s hand. 

Kya’s eyes bead with tears. She exchanges a look with Hakoda. 

Hakoda stands and grips his shoulders. “...I…. We trust you, son. And I want you to know how proud we are, that you’re willing to put yourself in danger for the sake of others this way-- it’s just-- going down there all alone…” 

“Not alone.” Zuko speaks up for the first time. “If you’ll have me.”

Sokka’s heart soars and shatters at the same time. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

The Council chatters around them as their own conversation peters off.

Kya takes a deep breath. Her voice is steady despite the tears. “All the records say they have a curious streak. Make it curious, make it want to follow you. _Don’t_ irritate it.”

“When have I ever irritated anyone?” says Sokka with a choked off laugh.

The door slams open and a man barrels in with the cool air. The entire room falls silent. Sokka doesn’t even need to hear him speak; it’s clear by the look on his face.

“They’re here.”

Every face that passes in the street hurries by wearing some mixture of determination and fear. Doors slam from far off. Conversation is eerily absent. 

Ursa, pale, sharpens her borrowed swords. She watches Zuko from the corner of her eye as if afraid he will disappear.

Azula sits against the wall, watching both of them.

“What will you do?” Zuko asks Azula. He’s almost afraid to hear the answer.

Azula opens her mouth, but it takes her a moment to answer. “I… don’t know.” She bows her head. 

Zuko looks away.

Ursa rests her hand lightly on Azula’s head for a moment-- Azula allows it-- and sheaths her swords. “Are you ready, Zuko? You don’t have to do this.” Her eyes flash. “We won’t go down easily.”

“Yes, I do.”

She shakes her head and comes forward to hug him tightly, rocking him a little. “Zuko,” she whispers, “my brave son… You are _nothing_ like your father.”

It’s this that finally makes his eyes well up, and he grips her back tightly.

“Don’t die, you idiot,” he hears from behind him as he follows Ursa out the door. He looks back. Azula is staring resolutely out the window.

“Thanks,” says Zuko. He closes the door behind him softly.

“Like that.” Sokka nods to the other warriors around them, all in various stages of identical face paint.

Zuko studies the nearest person closely, dips his finger into the purplish black paint, and gets to work.

Sokka closes his eyes, taking in the moment—the clammy coolness of the paint, the quiet talk around them, the familiar feeling of Zuko’s fingers on his face.

At last Zuko’s hands still for a moment before slipping away as if reluctantly. “Okay.”

“Thanks.”

Zuko’s scowling as he busies himself with the paint bowls, shuffling them around on the ground. The sleeves of his borrowed blue parka nearly dip into the paint.

Sokka tries to take in enough breath. “Those paint bowls really did something to you, huh?”

Zuko’s hands still as if he’s just realized what he’s doing. He meets Sokka’s eyes, scowling harder. “Just... We go, we go together.”

 _“Zuko.”_ A wave of emotion hits him, and he pushes himself forward to kiss him hard, uncaring of who might see, knocking Zuko backward a little. When he pulls away, he leaves smudges of paint smeared on Zuko’s cheeks and chin and nose.

Seeming not to know what to say, Zuko shrugs a little, red-faced, and clumsily thumbs at a spot on Sokka’s cheek, trying to fix the paint.

Sokka can’t think well past the fear and the guilt at his relief that Zuko is coming with him, so he does his best to give Zuko a shaky smile.

Zuko doesn’t quite manage it back, but Sokka can see the softening of his eyes and understands.

They stand up as if in a trance. Sokka lifts his hand automatically to his ruined face paint and lets it drop. Won’t matter. Won’t need it where he’s going.

Think something practical. He makes an effort. He clears his throat. “Hey. I know you have a penchant for blowing up at things. But you really gotta let me do the talking this time. Until the end.”

A flicker of fear lights in Zuko’s eyes. “The end?”

“Yeah. So it will follow us. When we need to make it mad.”

“So we are going to make it mad.”

Sokka shrugs. “I have a feeling curiosity can only go so far.” 

Suki clasps their hands in hers, one right after the other. “Don’t hurt yourselves down there. We’ll be here, holding the line.”

Toph grunts from where she’s seated on Druk’s back, cocooned in a makeshift suit of armor. “Hey, after all you’ve been through? I know you can handle one big ugly fish. You’ve got this.”

“Thanks, guys. Means a lot.” Sokka scratches under Druk’s chin one more time, trying not to fear this is the last time he’ll ever do it, and glances at Katara. 

She stares right past them out at the ocean, but after a second her eyes flick to them. She smiles tightly. “You can do this, guys. I believe in you.”

“We believe in you too,” Sokka tells her firmly. 

Zuko pulls himself reluctantly away from Druk, who is now making little distressed chirping noises. His jaw is clenched. “Let’s go.”

The wind howls. Sokka and Zuko stand on the fragile, clear ice near the shore, a great round hole leaving the water beneath naked to the sky. The great igloo of the Southern Water Tribe stands behind them in the distance, looking disconcertingly fragile and tiny. The sea laps at the edges of the new hole as on any other day, but as Sokka stares into its foaming depths the prospect of never coming back up again has him nauseous. 

In front of them are the recently erected ice walls and the warriors arrayed atop and behind them, and somewhere, their friends. 

And there-- past the walls-- off at sea-- the black fleet approaching.

They are close enough to see the symbols on their flags fluttering in the wind, the golden flame outlined in red on black. 

The clink of weapons and the shuffling of feet fills the air. All talk is tense and muted. 

“We’ll try to lower you slowly, so you don’t knock into anything, but it should be thick enough to withstand the trip.” One of the tribe’s most senior waterbenders slaps the side of the clear ice sphere that will take them down into the deeps, speaking so quickly Sokka has trouble following her. A bulky engine apparatus, traded from the Southern Fire Nation in more peaceful times, sits near the bottom next to a large canister of squid-eel ink for emergency camouflage. “There should be enough air for a couple of hours. Just don’t exert yourselves too much.” 

Sokka has the fleeting thought of how dumb it would be if after all this they died by suffocation. Beside them, people run back and forth. One hurries toward them carrying a huge pile of translucent tubing. 

“We’ll fill the tubes with fresh water. That way we’ll be able to feel where you are better in contrast to the salt and pull you up. If we can’t, there’s the engine.” She shakes her head, helping the arriving runner set down the extra tubing and attaching it as she talks, hands flying. “We’ve never done this operation at this depth before, and _definitely_ never where a playak was involved or when we were under attack.”

“We’re willing to take the risk,” says Sokka firmly. He glances at Zuko. “You ready?”

“Fuck no.”

“I know. Me neither.” 

The waterbender finishes with the tubing and faces them. “It’s time.”

A terrible crunching as of giant teeth on bones splits the air, and the ground trembles. The assembled masses at the shore roil like a pot of boiling water. Sokka’s heart nearly stops at the sight of the gaping hole in the wall, burning projectile halfway through, melting ice dribbling.

“Tui and La-- go! Go!”

The waterbenders seal them in. Their images become slightly wavy through the ice. The globe slides sideways and into the water with a splash, and then they’re sinking.

Their little globe of ice sways in the water, grotesque as a spider-fly’s egg sac. Bubbles drift upwards outside the ice as they pass. Sokka wishes he were going with them. 

Sunlight dribbles away. The bioluminescent shells they’ve brought glow faintly, casting a pallid light over them. The chalky taste of the mineral that wards off the bends won’t leave his tongue. The cramp from the death grip he has on Zuko’s hand won’t leave his fingers.

The quiet is stifling, and distortions of the ice play tricks on his eyes. They sink deeper and deeper, past the occasional familiar fish, past the point where all surface light is lost, and still deeper. His eyes soon water from staring. There’s nothing to see but the inky blue. 

At some point they scrape once or twice against the craggy surface of the lip of the Playak’s Trench, making them jolt in surprise.

And then they are swallowed whole. 

They slip down, down, down, with no markers to show how far they’ve come. He tries to banish the irrational fear that they could be sinking forever.

A bump on the bottom of the globe makes him jump. They’ve reached the end of the line.

Sokka slides the knife out of its sheath. It’s funny. Now that he’s really there, at the end of it all, his hands are steady, like his body is relieved to finally have some use for all of that anxiety. 

“Ready?” His voice is hoarse. The only human voice at the bottom of the ocean. 

Zuko gives a stiff nod. 

Sokka slices the blade across his palm and watches the crimson drips bead and fall. Blood on the ice. Dripping.

It’s impossible to tell how long they wait there. An hour? Five minutes? Sokka can’t imagine the battle occurring in real time on the surface. They seem suspended out of time, paused at the brink of nonexistence. Nothing but the sickly glow of the shells and the pressing dark and the dripping.

Dripping.

Dripping.

“Something really warm is coming,” says Zuko suddenly. “Something pulsing.”

Sokka has to swallow twice before he can get the words out. “Its heart.”

It seems like a school of fish swimming up out of the gloom at first, rippling and winking even in the dim shell-light. But the closures over the bright spots form a pattern, and it becomes clear that they face a sea of eyes, each as big as Sokka’s head, staring and blinking and staring.

It’s here. It’s really here. The stuff of legends, and here it is, and here he is, at the bottom of the ocean, defenseless.

Off to the right, in the distance, another shape moves, a lawn of sea-grass, until it floats slowly closer and reveals itself to be a bony wrist the size of a small ship, dozens of tentacles where fingers should be swaying in the current. 

The thing pauses half a ship-length away. It fills their entire field of vision. Below them, scales stretch off into the gloom interminably.

“It’s you.” There is no movement of any mouth. Its voice is gravelly and hoarse, and the inflection is off, just _wrong_ in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The sound of something inhuman mimicking human speech.

Sokka resists the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants. “You were expecting me?”

The eyes blink in a wavelike motion. “No. But I remember you. Remember the taste of your blood.” 

The same one. Of fucking _course_ it’s the same one. Sokka fights the urge to stiffen, pushing away the burgeoning memory of barbs in his skin, ripping, tearing flesh...

“Why are you here?”

One massive, spindly arm looms slowly up out of the murk, and a tentacle taps against their fragile sphere. For one terrifying moment, it covers that entire side and they rock in the water.

“Not to kill you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Long seconds pass while the playak’s sea of eyes tilt, and it floats up and over them, twisting in the water to stare as its humanoid torso covers them from above. 

Sokka’s heart is hammering as he fights to keep control. _Why is he here? Why?_ He wrenches his eyes from the playak’s to the side of the ice sphere, breaking himself for a moment from its thrall.

“As if you could.” At last the torso runs out of length above them and gives way to greyish-yellow scales. One tentacle curls slowly around them from below. “Why?”

Its eyes drill into him insistently, probing, and Sokka swallows, throat dry. He opens his mouth and pauses as he fights it, wanting to spill his guts. _Why? Why? Why?_

Zuko squeezes his hand, a warm presence at his side, and that subtle reminder of humanity causes Sokka to take in a deep breath, regaining his balance.

“Technically that’s our business.”

The ice creaks as the tentacle tightens, testing. “I could kill you right now.”

“Undoubtedly,” Sokka agrees placidly, sweat prickling down the back of his neck. “But then you’d never figure out why we’re here, would you?”

The tentacle slips away, and the face floats closer, close enough to see the individual shells of crustaceans attached to its greyish skin. “Who is… that…. with you?”

“A friend.”

The playak presses one eye right up to the sphere, and within its huge, cloudy depths tiny, parasitic worms wriggle. Sokka is unable to repress a shudder and feels Zuko do the same beside him.

To his relief, it pulls back after a moment, but still all they can see is its dozens of slowly blinking eyes. “I will know if anyone else comes down.”

“We know.” Sokka swallows, reminds himself of his plan. “How about three guesses? If you guess right, you can eat us. If you guess wrong, we get a head start.”

The ten seconds that follow are the longest he’s ever endured. 

“I accept,” the playak says finally. “If you give me a… a hint…”

It won’t honor the agreement. Sokka knows this. “Okay. The hint is fire.” 

The playak pulls back and slowly begins to circle them. “That puny red thing? It has no power down here.”

“Believe me, we know.” 

The playak’s swimming swirls them in the water, knocking the shells into each other on the floor and throwing Sokka and Zuko against each other.

“Fire…” the playak muses slowly as if testing the word out. “What humans do on the surface means nothing to me. No fire down here.” It swims a little faster. “Fire of the spirit? Is that what you think _you_ have?” It sounds amused, and the tentacles return to caress the globe, scraping over imperfections in the ice. “Do you think you’ve grown? Since then? So puny. I have grown. Are you here because you think you can prove yourself?”

“I...” The roving eyes bore down into him. He feels as if he is on a lowered dais, surrounded by a disdainful crowd, and suddenly the doubt and fear slams him so that he has trouble breathing. “That’s…”

“That’s not it. Guess again,” Zuko bites out. 

“Have I hit a sore spot?” It sounds delighted, and the eyes bulge. “See how tiny, how worthless you are? Is it clearer, down here?”

Sokka swallows. “I thought you wanted to know why we’re here? That’s not the answer. Fire. That’s your hint.”

Its eyes twitch to Sokka’s right, focusing on Zuko, and Sokka feels his head clear immediately. “Aren’t you a fire user? What are you doing, so far from home? So out of place? Are the two of you here because of you?” Below their feet, white teeth the length of a human arm flash in the dim light as jaws slowly drift open. “I see you have a scar. Are you wounded? Disgraced? Did you come here to die? I can ease your suffering. A magnificent way to go, I promise, and you’ll belong here forever, with me.”

Sokka can hear Zuko’s teeth grind. His eyes are far away and his face pale. 

“We’ll pass.” Sokka clasps Zuko’s hand in both of his own, hardly noticing the red smear he leaves on Zuko’s skin. “Guess again. Last chance. I’ll give you another hint: It’s nothing as petty as what you’ve already guessed. We’re part of something better. Bigger.”

“Better?.... Bigger?....” The tentacles wave faster, and the eyes roll. “Better… bigger…”

Sokka tears his eyes from the playak to throw Zuko a glance, meeting his eyes.

Zuko takes in a breath, and after a beginning voice crack, a little princely haughtiness returns. “That’s right. Much more important than something like you could imagine. You know nothing about us.” His voice builds. He’s beginning to sound genuinely pissed off, in fact. “Guess all you want. But we’re not letting some fish stop us from doing what we need to do.”

“‘Fish?’ _’Fiiiiish?’”_ The playak crowds closer, tail curling slowly around them and forming a wall of scales as far as the light stretches, tentacles weaving a ceaselessly wriggling web. “I am no _‘fish.’_ You are a floating piece of penguin-seal feces to me, tiny and disgusting and useless. I am the closest thing to the pinnacle of existence you will ever see.”

The words seem to ring in Sokka’s head. Every shred of self-recrimination seems to converge on him at once. Zuko seems momentarily speechless, gasping, reeling at the same attack. 

And Sokka wants to shout an agreement. He is. He is tiny and disgusting and useless, an abomination, all the way back to the beginning. 

But is he? _Is_ he all those things? Is he? Is he? 

Does it matter?

Sokka has never exerted so much energy to muster up a shrug. His heart pounds. His fingers tingle. _“Who cares? It won’t stop us.”_

The playak says nothing. The wriggling of tentacles slows. The eyes blink.

“You’re not even close to the worst thing we’ve faced. In fact,” Zuko blurts, lifting his chin, eyes sparking, “I think we could beat you. It might not be easy, but we could do it.” He rocks to his feet, hand on the icy wall in front. “I used to think like you. All my life the only thing I could think about was how much of a disappointment I was. Every day, all I thought about was trying to impress people like you. But I don’t do that anymore. I don’t even do that for them. And you?” He glares at the playak, fists clenched. “You’re just a fish.”

The eyes sharpen. The tentacles abruptly still. The jaws below them open wide once more, the yawning chasm between seeming darker even than the surrounding pitch black. Several ships could fit inside comfortably, and that only in what they can see. 

The voice loses a little of its modulation, turning to a grating, uniform mutter. “Why are you here? Why? Tell me! I have one last guess before I eat you like a worm. If you tell me, I’ll make it quick.”

Sokka’s breath is coming faster. His eyes dart to the engine. He’s unable to keep his gaze from flicking upwards hopefully. 

The voice’s quality disintegrates still further to a spine-chilling hiss. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice the lines?”

The severed ends of their lifeline sway slightly in the current. 

“They may be clear and thin, but you can’t fool me.”

All right. Plan A is gone, but they have one last chance. 

Sokka lunges for the motor controls, but Zuko reaches them first. They jolt upwards in a flurry of bubbles as it lurches to life, rising, rising-- 

They zip right past the playak’s many eyes, and it emits a screech like a knife on slate, loud enough to pierce their eardrums. Ink blooms around them in the water, confusing its senses of scent and vision both, and tentacles whip past them uselessly. They rise still. The motor is cranked to its highest setting. 

Sokka grips Zuko’s arm, eyes pinned to the direction of the surface above, hoping La can sense them, will help them with its currents and rhythms. Otherwise there is nothing they can do.

Again time seems to stretch and contort in a way that is impossible to follow. The only things that exist are the bubbles in their wake and the blackness and-- 

A tentacle licks the bottom of the sphere. A few seconds pass, and then comes another, and another. 

They jerk to a stop and Sokka and Zuko slam against the wall of the sphere. The motor grinds loudly. A sickening crunch follows. 

Sokka manages to shake the spots out of his vision in time to see the severed motor disappearing into the blackness.

They are dead in the water.

They tilt to one side as if shoved, and Sokka and Zuko whip around. Nothing. A blow on the other side. Again there is nothing when they look. The bubbles stirred up in their wake still hide their surroundings.

It’s toying with them.

Sokka frantically tries to calculate how far up they’ve come. The water is no longer pitch black. A dim, fuzzy light suffuses them. How far is it to the surface?

But no, only a waterbender could swim that fast. 

“Are you done?” Its voice seems to reverberate painfully in his skull. Three tentacles slam onto the surface of the ice and wriggle inexorably around the sphere, covering the bulk of the surface. They squeeze tighter, and hairline fractures appear in the ice.

“Tell me. Tell me. Why did you come here? You must have known I could overpower you. You knew. But you’re still here. Tell me. Tell me.”

With each demand the tentacles squeeze a little tighter, and more cracks appear. A steady drip starts up from the ceiling. 

Sokka opens his mouth-- they’re out of time-- he has to come up with something that will get it to go to the surface-- anything--

He scrabbles for Zuko beside him-- they bump into each other, slamming shoulder to shoulder-- sweat mixes with cold water where his hand rests-- he takes a last breath-- this is it, this is the end--

His vision explodes in yellow.

The tentacles lash wildly, first squeezing the sphere tighter with a symphony of cracks. But then they loosen, slamming into the ice globe in their thrashing, and Sokka and Zuko are batted backwards like a ball kicked by a child. 

“What the-- what’s happening?” gasps Zuko as they attempt to scramble upright.

The sea in front of them is growing steadily cloudier with a bright yellow substance, the playak’s blood, spreading across their immediate area and obscuring the writhing mass of tentacles and scales.

A deafening crack sounds, and suddenly the ocean in front of them is too bright to look at, a searing white light arcing across their field of vision, spreading, splitting, _burning,_ and the water roils, buffeting them helplessly. 

As quickly as it came, it fades, leaving them crouching with the bright afterimage seared into the backs of their eyelids. The dripping on the ceiling accelerates, dribbling onto Sokka’s forehead, and it’s _warm._

Sokka and Zuko stare around themselves, but nothing is visible through the yellowish stain. No more flashes occur. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sokka spots movement at his feet and whirls around-- something pale and fleshy, five-pointed, pressing against the ice--

A human hand.

They crumple against the floor as the sphere accelerates upward, light growing, and just as Sokka pushes himself over to look through the floor they collide with the ice sheet on the surface. 

The sphere shatters.

Sokka manages to take half a breath before they’re enveloped in icy cold, seeping right through every layer and into his bones, stabbing, paralyzing; the teachings all Water Tribe children learn kick in and he focuses on staying calm, looking upwards, clenching the handful of Zuko’s parka he can reach in his fist. The massive hole through which they left glimmers above them, and his heart leaps. 

Together they struggle upwards, reaching, straining, and the first break of his hand above water feels like the first step on a new planet. The fingers of his ungloved hand scratch divots in the ice in their search for a grip.

Abruptly the water beneath him forcefully lifts him, and they are dumped onto the ice, coughing and wheezing. Dimly Sokka registers multiple presences beside him. The relative silence of the ocean is replaced in a blink with shouts, screams, ice cracking, wind howling, fire rushing, the sound of blows slamming--

“...coming?! Is it coming?!” 

Sokka blinks the water out of his eyes. The senior waterbender is in his face, wide-eyed, gripping his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he manages, words nearly stolen by the wind. 

She hauls him to his feet, pausing to turn and loose a barrage of ice daggers. Behind her too close for comfort a maelstrom of ice swirls in the air, fake Avatars ringing it in droves, and as he watches a fire whip slams down on a few of them. He knows that is where Katara must be.

“A… Azula?” Zuko gasps.

Sokka turns even as every nerve begins to scream at him with the cold air hitting his sodden clothes. 

Azula lies hacking up water next to Zuko, just as bedraggled as the two of them.

Lightning. The brightness under the water was lightning.

“Why?” Zuko’s pulled to his feet by another waterbender. 

“Shut… the _fuck_ … up.” Azula staggers to her feet, shoving another waterbender’s hands away. She needs a few more gasping breaths, eyes and nose streaming, before she can snap her next words. “It’s not dead.”

Sokka turns to grip the parka of the waterbender supporting him in both of his fists. She looks at him with wild eyes.

“It’s coming,” he says. 

All the Water Tribe fighters in the area fly over the ice as only master waterbenders can, dragging Sokka, Zuko, and Azula like baskets of fish, each opponent abandoned. Sokka catches flashes of confusion and suspicion behind the fire blasts and water whips that lick at their heels, and a few of the fake Avatars begin to give chase, turning, lunging at them as they speed past Katara’s whirlwind of ice and the bulk of the fighters.

The ice beneath their feet splits like a skull. Ice and water surge upwards, quickly drowning out the screams. Sokka, Zuko, and Azula are thrown backwards against something unyielding, rising, ice crumbling beneath them; Sokka tumbles, rolling down an uneven slope, and just barely manages to catch himself on the newly born shore before he hits the water again. 

He rolls over and his eyes travel up, and up, and up-- it’s still rising-- the rumbling shakes him-- a spike of ice, towering higher than the great igloo in the distance, challenging the sky, building until it is surely higher than any structure humans in their minuteness have ever managed to make-- 

Zuko pulls him to his feet, and they’re all across the gap of water and scrambling across the broken ice on the other side before he knows what he’s doing. He stumbles on an outcrop of ice and keeps going, icy air burning in his lungs.

He throws a glance over his shoulder. A lone figure is launching into the sky, tiny and speeding into the misty clouds as earth falls away, and below and around it the fake Avatars swarm to follow, attacks blooming in red and icy blue. 

The ice is broken. The way is clear for whatever decides to come through.

A mountain rises from the water, slimy and gray, dripping as it grows, lengthening until it begins to cast shadows over the ice that cover them within a millisecond; a white peak catches the light, and then a dozen more teeth, and a dozen more, and the mountain takes shape as one of a repulsive pair of lips; a straining grayish mass shoots upwards beneath, flexing, reaching; writhing tentacles block out the sun to the edge of the ocean a mile away like the branches of a monstrous tree. The mouth of the playak, a gaping void like the edge of the world, stretches towards the Avatar. It devours the distance, and fake Avatars tumble and are dragged inside like crumbs into the mouth of a child.

The maw launches upwards as if it means to go right to the stars, ice cracking and crumbling at the edges where its body emerges; the sea is in uproar, churning beneath arms like islands and ribs made of entire valleys. The bulbous head vanishes into the clouds after Katara. A sound that dwarfs a thousand thunderclaps slams the land as the foul teeth meet unseen, and a putrid wind follows on its heels, bowling over all within miles. It reaches the apex of its leap. 

A split second as all remains still but for the wind. 

And the playak falls.

The force of its leaving shatters the ice anew, ripping it to shreds to be swallowed greedily by the sea; tentacles lash the remnants to pieces still more, whipping ice chunks like boulders in every direction; the sea rushes up onto the ice and sweeps them all away like leaves in a stream for a few terrifying seconds. In the distance, the roof of the great igloo shatters, and the force of the whole thing slices the shoreline where they have been fighting loose for miles around, a new iceberg to drift where the limits of the land once were.

And as it sinks, its shattering impression still pressed indelibly onto the pole itself, a glowing figure falls from the clouds.

Katara touches down on the ground. A few last fake Avatars rise up to meet her, and the very crust of the ice rises at her command, slamming them to their knees and molding around them several yards deep. Compared to what’s just happened it seems like mercy. She continues on towards the masses gathered near the shore.

Sokka finds himself on the ground, dripping. Shakily he pushes himself to his feet. Nearby, Zuko does the same, offering a hand to Azula, which she reluctantly takes. They and the remaining Water Tribe fighters in the area all follow Katara, jumping the new gaps in the ice.

At the edge of the original shore, the standard forces of both the Fire Nation and Water Tribe are beginning to rise to their feet, milling around uncertainly in the midst of the destruction, eyeing each other warily rather than leaping back into battle. One person steps forward.

“Have you lost your minds? Attack!” roars Azulon. His topknot has come loose, and his fists burn. 

Katara takes a few more steps forward, eyes still glowing Avatar-blue. The Fire Nation forces, and a few of the Water Tribe forces, recoil like skittish ostrich-horses.

With a sweep of her arms, a ring of fire encases her and Azulon both, blocking out all others and encouraging them to fall back even farther. Azulon comes in quickly with a lightning-fast barrage of fire blasts, but Katara waves them away and levels a powerful gust of wind at him, launching him thirty feet into the air. 

To Azulon’s credit, twin jets of firebending from his feet slow his fall, but a tidal wave of water immediately melts from the ground to smother him. Again and again Katara hits him, coming closer and closer all the while, and Azulon’s counter-attacks become more and more frenzied. The assembled crowd watches as if frozen.

At last a globule of water consumes Azulon’s upper half. He claws at the edges, the water steaming, but the ice around him melts and joins with it faster than he can dispel it. At last his struggling stops and he slumps, feet dangling free. 

The globule drains away, dropping him to the ground. Katara’s last action is to bend the water out from his lungs. His chest rises and falls. 

Katara falls to her knees. Sokka is in motion immediately, running until he reaches her. 

She is staring hard at Azulon, eyes returned to their normal hue. Scrapes cover her exposed face and hands, and her parka is singed and torn.

“Katara,” Sokka says, “you did it.” He feels rather than sees Zuko stumble up beside him.

She looks up and smiles tearfully. Her shoulders slump in relief. “We did it.”


	29. Peacetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things settle down.

“I thought you said this was a small party?” Sokka says, trying to stifle his laughter. He’s still giddy off the high of being announced as a hero who came up with the plan that ended the war in front of an entire ballroom. His parents beam at him still from a few rows down, rivaling their expressions when he and Katara both turned up alive after the invasion.

“This _is_ a small party for a coronation. At least traditionally,” hisses Zuko, red-faced and still straightening the errant edge of his cape. He glances around. “Was it that obvious?”

“Nah, I’m probably the only one who noticed. It was the face you made as you tripped more than anything.” 

The announcer declares, “Her Royal Highness Princess Azula of the Fire Nation!” and Azula enters the chamber, head held high as she advances.

“Technically the entire country is supposed to take part in ritual celebrations, according to my uncle. To drive home how grateful and loyal they’re going to be to the new Firelord. But my uncle wants to take a different approach, show them first that he can make things better before he expects them to celebrate him.”

“Well, you gotta hand it to him. If anyone can accomplish reunification, it’s your uncle.”

“Yeah,” says Zuko proudly. “But you’re right.” He glances around. “This is a lot of people.”

The assembled crowd easily numbers more than a hundred: Toph and all the other members of Tomoe’s circus; Suki; Li Min; Hakoda and Kya with some of the Council of Elders from the Southern Water Tribe; Queen Yue and her delegation, now firmly in control again of the Northern Water Tribe; representatives from Omashu, Ba Sing Se, and many other cities of the Earth Kingdom; senior monks from all four Air Temples, including Dawa, Wangmo, and Nyima, recovering from her imprisonment and bouncing; and many from the Fire Nation whom Sokka doesn’t know, Fire Sages and representatives of the Northern areas, military members and citizen activists. Beside them Druk sits on his cushion quietly, for once abandoning his attempts to bite at the chain of rubies some poor thoughtful attendant draped around his neck. Lu Ten has their own spot nearby, in pride of place as heir to the crown; they notice Sokka looking and wink cheerfully. 

As Azula takes her seat next to Zuko, she opens her mouth, a smug expression on her face, but pauses and closes it instead, expression turning conflicted. Sokka wonders if she was going to comment on Zuko tripping but changed her mind.

As Ursa takes her seat on Azula’s other side, Iroh appears and begins to speak, and the room quiets.

“They really love him, don’t they?” Azula says. The entire room is hanging on Iroh’s every word, his voice swelling to fill the space, reassuring and strong.

“He deserves it,” says Zuko. 

Azula falls silent, looking thoughtful. Her actions the day of the invasion made her touchy and avoidant, and Zuko told Sokka he still has not mentioned them to her. That is the way Azula seems to prefer it. The praise heaped on her for the rescue by Iroh and Ursa, as well as by the entire Southern Water Tribe, seems to baffle and embarrass her more than anything else.

“In times like these, all we can do is remember our common humanity and do our best to bring harmony to the world. And none of this would be possible without the help of the Avatar,” finishes Iroh with a smile.

When Katara appears, the room explodes in cheering. This is the friendliest crowd to be found anywhere save for the steadily rebuilding Southern Water Tribe, and Sokka knows this, but he can’t keep his heart from swelling as Katara breaks into a bashful grin. Toph and Suki are whistling and yelling loud enough to wake the dead, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard his parents this loud. 

And Sokka knows there is still work to be done, long, exhausting hours of setbacks and arguments over the fate of the world and the Fire Nation to be had, but as he and Zuko join in the cheering, he feels a seed planted and nourished by the elation of the moment. Whatever comes, they will be able to handle it, together. 

“Man, they really let you walk around in this clown suit?” says Toph, fingering the material of Zuko’s robes.

“They really let you… ” begins Zuko, and then stops. 

“Exactly. I’m a fucking paragon of roguish style. You’re--”

“They really let you have clean feet?” blurts Zuko, looking proud of himself.

“Yeah, Toph,” Sokka mumbles around his bite of food.

“I was _going_ to say that you’ve been a little quiet, Ponytail.”

“I’ve been chewing.” Sokka winces as he takes another bite of the roast crocodile-pig on his plate, following it up with a gulp of water. It’s so good, but the spiciness makes it so _painful._

“It’s okay if it’s too spicy for you,” says Zuko.

“I don’t know the meaning of the word,” says Sokka.

Zuko shrugs, scooping up a handful of peppers off the banquet table and popping them whole in his mouth, keeping eye contact all the while. “Really?”

“Oh, so _that’s_ how you wanna play it, Mr. Won’t-Even-Try-Seal-Shark.”

“You guys eat it cold and raw, Sokka!”

“It’s good that way!”

“Gross. Leave us out of your flirting.” Toph wrinkles her nose. “Right, Suki?”

“Oh, for sure. Totally gross,” says Suki, staring off across the ballroom where Katara is surrounded by a gaggle of pretty young noblewomen vying for an autograph. 

“Fucking hopeless,” grunts Toph. 

“Pose for a quick portrait?” an artist passing by asks them cheerfully. 

Sokka goes to make rabbaroo ears behind Toph’s head first, but she smacks him away, so he goes for Zuko instead.

He spots Li Min hovering nearby with a crooked smile and calls them over to join in the portrait.

“You know, our offer to stay in the Southern Water Tribe still stands,” he says, trying to keep the rabbaroo ears steadily in view as the artist’s brush flies across the paper.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be going back to the Earth Kingdom,” they say. “It’s as much my home as anywhere else. Besides, Jin and I have been exchanging letters, and-- well, you know.”

After the playak mowed down the bulk of the fake Avatars, it was a simple matter for Li Min to remove the extra bending from the survivors, including Azula, and return it to the few children who were left, including Nyima. It was a sobering moment when they all realized there was more stolen bending left over than there were surviving experimental subjects. Azulon was never going to see the outside of a jail cell again.

Sokka nudges them with his shoulder. “Gotcha. Go get her.”

They’ve hardly finished with the portrait-- the rabbaroo ears come out excellently-- when Sokka feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to find Mai, who points towards the corner, where Ty Lee is trying to pull Druk off of an elderly man’s wig. 

As they hurry over, however, Azula walks up and tosses Druk a strip of roast meat, and Druk ditches the man’s wig to snatch it up. 

“You okay? We’re really sorry--” Sokka starts to say to the old man, who looks more stunned at having had a dragon attached to his head than anything. 

“You need to keep that thing under control,” snaps Azula. Druk licks her hand.

At the sight of Azula, Ty Lee takes a noticeable step back and Mai slips in close next to her.

Azula notices and her eyes widen a little. She turns to face Ty Lee and Mai, clearing her throat. “Um. Hello.”

Mai raises an eyebrow. Ty Lee only stares.

“I just want to say that I am sorry. For what happened between us and your… coworkers the last time we met.”

“‘Kay,” says Mai.

Azula nods stiffly. “Do you accept my apology?”

“We’ll think about it.” 

“Well… thank you for apologizing, at least,” Ty Lee offers with a hesitant smile.

“You’re welcome. Maybe I can… help finance your little… er… traveling troupe.”

“That would definitely help prove how sorry you are,” Mai agrees solemnly.

Sokka meets Zuko’s eyes. Zuko shrugs, looking mystified. Azula only nods once and slips away, head high. 

“I think she’s trying,” Zuko says.

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” pipes up Toph near Sokka’s elbow. “Better than what she was doing before.”

“Hey, where’s Suki?” says Sokka, noticing her missing.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

As they’re walking back to the banquet table, Sokka spots Suki behind a statue in an alcove, very obviously _canoodling_ with-- that’s Katara, isn’t it? 

Sokka slaps his hand over his eyes as Toph sniggers. “Do us a favor, Toph, and next time just tell them to get a room as soon as you sense them walking off.”

They wander indolently around the party, first exhausting Sokka’s taste buds by trying everything new they spot on the tables, then pausing to listen to Iroh give an impromptu tea lecture to a crowd of very serious and raptly attentive Northern leaders, then at last simply curling up on one of the couches scattered around the room, watching the people chatter and laugh and mill about.

The band starts up a waltz. 

“Do you want to dance?” Zuko says abruptly.

Sokka laughs. “Uh… I don’t really know how.”

“I can teach you.”

For all Zuko’s good intentions, they mostly wind up tripping over each other and giggling. The music and the food and the company have a lulling effect, and Sokka finds that he doesn’t really mind as long as they don’t go sprawling. 

“Okay, full disclosure: I didn’t really learn at all until I came down here,” says Zuko.

“And here I thought you were a professional.” They sway and spin aimlessly over the polished floor, Zuko’s hand warm in his. 

“I am compared to you.”

“Ouch. Okay, that’s fair.” 

At last they do eventually knock into something, bringing down a single chair that nonetheless gets them a few looks from passersby. Sokka laughs as he pulls up Zuko, red-faced and grinning. “Let’s get out of here. Watch the sunset or something. Come on, Druk.”

They wander through the streets with the setting sun, shadows long before them, the breeze pleasant on their flushed faces. They find a bench near the shore, where the docks are busy with comings and goings and loadings and unloadings, as if a month ago they hadn’t been on the brink of world war. 

Druk settles his head in Sokka’s lap, taking up most of the room on the bench, and Sokka and Zuko lean into each other. For some time the calls of shorebirds and the shouting of dock workers make up the only sounds. The sunset washes everything in orange and yellow and pink. 

“What should we do after this?” Sokka mumbles.

“Anything,” Zuko says sleepily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right lads, ladies, enby pals, and all others, here you have it. Thanks for sticking with me long enough for me to limp across the finish line asdgfdsj;lk hahahahahah I’m so tired  
> I deeply appreciate all the engagement and support you’ve shown me! You all have been nothing short of wonderful. I didn't expect to feel as sad about finishing this as I do.   
> Hope you enjoyed!


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